


as the rain hides the stars

by ClassicBrie19



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Drama, F/M, Independent North, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen, Minor Daario Naharis/Daenerys Targaryen, Modern Royalty, Not a love triangle!, POV Daenerys Targaryen, POV Jon Snow, Past Relationship(s), R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, literal ice and fire, no dragons sorry, no targaryen madness, the united kingdoms of westeros, this is basically a soap opera, you can skip the first chapter if you're not a Daario/Dany fan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 79,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicBrie19/pseuds/ClassicBrie19
Summary: After an embarrassing photo is plastered on newsstands from Dorne to Qarth, Daenerys Targaryen's reputation is in tatters. As Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, she risks disgracing the legacy her brother works hard to protect.Meanwhile, in the sovereign state of the North, the worst winter in modern history is on its way. The country's crippled economy leaves the people vulnerable and desperate for aid. Crowned Prince and legitimized bastard, Jon Stark, faces a delicate situation as both savior and disgrace of his proud nation.To save his country and her reputation, a marriage is arranged between them. But a princess labeled as damaged goods and a prince who walks a very fine line don't mix. And politics and rumors don't make it easier.Next Update: TBD
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 448
Kudos: 622





	1. Introduction

**As the rain hides the stars,**

**as the autumn mist hides the hills,**

**as the clouds veil the blue of the sky,**

**so the dark happenings of my lot**

**hide your shining face from me.**

**Yet, if I may hold your hand in the darkness**

**it is enough, since I know that though I may stumble in my going**

**you do not fall**

**-Traditional Scottish Gaelic Prayer**

**Playlist**

_successful_ \- Ariana Grande

 _Foreigner's God_ \- Hozier

 _The Man_ \- Taylor Swift

 _Scotland_ \- The Lumineers

 _Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince_ \- Taylor Swift

 _Talk_ \- Hozier

 _you should see me in a crown_ \- Billie Eilish

 _You Don't Own Me_ \- Lesley Gore

 _To Be So Lonely_ \- Harry Styles

_STUPID- Ahsnikko, Yung Baby Tate_

_Getaway Car_ \- Taylor Swift

 _Compass_ \- Zella Day

 _Mustang Kids_ \- Zella Day

 _Wish I Knew You_ \- The Revivalists

 _Delicate-_ Taylor Swift

 _Cherry Wine_ \- Hozier

 _hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have- but I have it_ \- Lana Del Rey

 _From Eden_ \- Hozier

 _Lovers_ \- Anna of the North

 _ghostin'_ \- Ariana Grande

 _New Light_ \- John Mayer

 _Golden_ \- Harry Styles

 _Good Kisser_ \- Lake Street Drive

 _Say It_ \- Maggie Rogers

 _Ave generosa_ \- Hildegard Von Bingen

 _O virga ac_ _diadema_ \- Hildegard Von Bingen

 _Ubi Caritas_ \- Ola Geijlo

 _Entreat Me Not To Leave You_ \- Dan Forrest

 _As the Rain Hides the Stars_ \- Elaine Hagenberg

 _This Marriage_ \- Eric Whitacre

 _From Their Homeland_ \- Hildegard Von Bingen

 _Kissing You_ \- Des'ree

 _Dress_ \- Taylor Swift

 _7 Rings_ \- Ariana Grande

 _Say So_ \- Doja Cat

Retrograde- Maggie Rogers

 _Dinner & Diatribes_\- Hozier

 _Try A Little Tenderness_ \- Florence + the Machine

 _Stand By Me_ \- Florence + the Machine

 _needy_ \- Ariana Grande

 _Let Her Go_ \- Passenger

 _Gold_ \- Imagine Dragons

 _I Did Something Bad_ \- Taylor Swift

 _Look What You Made Me Do_ \- Taylor Swift

 _Eavesdrop_ \- The Civil Wars

 _The North Remembers_ \- Ramin Djwadi

**Playlist Link:** https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6y3FTk6vzWjqPAQeDGBVqP?si=qPu31pagTdaA2XZpnpRhUA


	2. it feels so good to be so young and have this fun and be successful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A photo is published in the tabloids that brings Daenerys' free, easy-going life to a screeching halt

The alarm on the nightstand let out its shrill buzz, unbothered by the fact that it was silenced four times before and its patron hadn’t moved from their bed. A pale hand snuck out from the white duvet and slapped the button before pushing back the covers. The mass of white-blonde hair hidden underneath groaned. Heavy was her head and body, stiff and unwilling to embrace the upside effects of alcohol consumption.

She uncovered her body and put her feet on the floor. Shoving her hair out of her face, wincing at the sun beaming through the sheer curtains on the terrace doors. Through the windows, the city of Braavos sparkled like the Gods sent opportunity it was. Red tiled roofs baked in the sun and the whitewashed facades reflected the glint of the turquoise waterways. Tourists and natives alike passing over footbridges and floating along the slim channels on boats propelled by a singular oarsman. She could never tire of the view but she wasn’t sure if it would stay in her future. If the glimmering, historical city, rich in culture and excitement, would be her home. 

She took her time in the shower, alternating between cool and warm water; the air turning into a cloud of amber and floral scents. Luxurious, sophisticated, expensive. All the things required of someone with her royal status, underlined by freedom and sensuality. The very things Westeros’ most-watched princess was criticized for in certain circles and praised for in others.

There was no robe to be found, only a white button-up shirt abandoned over a bedpost which she donned anyway. Ignoring the shock of the cool wood floor, she moved straight for the walk-in closet. The Braavosi apartment was much smaller than her rooms in the palace at King’s Landing, but it was a much-appreciated kind of small. Just enough room for her and the palace assigned security officer and strategically located between the important districts and the university campus, while remaining distanced from the tourist hot spots. The Westerosi embassy offered to house her while she studied there but that meant even more time surrounded by diplomats and sycophants, curious visitors and gawkers.

Despite the mess in the other room, she kept her closet and all other areas in her life organized. A habit from princess training and an unconscious need to establish control over a part of a life that already felt like it belonged to someone else. Royal protocol dictated that a senior member of the family must always be dressed business casual, with a heavy emphasis on skirts, even when not appearing in an official capacity. She reached for a pair of jeans.

“Dany?” a groggy voice called from the bedroom. 

“In here.” she rifled through a drawer to find a shirt she wanted to wear. 

“That shirt looks great on you.”

Her latest and longest conquest, Daario, leaned against the doorway, his eyes raking over her with the same hunger as last night. She shrugged his shirt off her shoulders and tossed it at him so he had at least something covering him. 

She met the heir to the Tyroshi tech company in a local haunt last summer during her stay in Slaver’s Bay. They spent her autumn break holed up in an expensive hotel in Tolos, spoiling each other with extravagant gifts and room service. Now they lived in the same apartment building. Considering that their fling was nearing a year old, it was time to cut him loose.

But every time she entertained the thought of ending their arrangement, it left her with a hollow heart. They were having fun, screwing around, it was harmless. So why get rid of it?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dany warned.

A roguish smirk grew across his handsome face, “Like what?”

She pulled the black crop tee over her head, her silence stating that he knew exactly what she referred to. 

“Last night was fantastic,” he complimented.

_ Last night _ . They had spent it in the fashionable district of Braavos. Dinner at an upscale, experimental restaurant, the kind where the portions were small and confusing; dancing at an elite club that still featured go-go dancers and underground DJ’s; a gondola cruise through the canals the tourists avoided. Then they’d stumbled back to her apartment, unable to keep their hands off each other.

“Isn’t it always?” she brushed past him to get to the bathroom.

He chuckled and followed her, leaning against the doorway again as he watched her put makeup on with amused eyes.

“So it’s like that.”

She paused applying her face serum to look at him, “Like what?”

When he didn’t respond right away she returned to her routine.

“Dany,” he sighed, “We’ve been doing this for a year.”

“And it’s been great.”

“But don’t you think it’s time we made things official.”

She froze, mid mascara stroke, to consider his words. They had been together for a while and Dany had finally graduated from University. Turning their regular meetups into something more serious was the obvious move. And it gave Dany pause.  Her relationship with Daario wasn’t perfect, there were plenty of disagreements and raised voices, and it wasn’t meant to be anything more.

“You know how I feel about that.”

“Yes, but we’ve already been together so long, what’s the harm? Aren’t you ready to take the next step?”

The next step involved him meeting her family and getting approval from Rhaegar for their relationship to continue under the public eye. Which meant Daario would have to come to Westeros with her. Which also meant more cameras and flashing lights and yelling reporters. They’d survived in Essos because there were fewer prying eyes, depending on where they were hiding out. But Westerosi gossipers would scrutinize their every move. To Dany, it wasn’t worth the hassle.

“I’m not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s true.”

“What do you have to be so afraid of?”

“Daario, let’s say that we do want to continue this … whatever we have.” she went back to applying her mascara. “And we want to make it official. That would require a trip to Westeros, specifically King’s Landing. You’re used to the occasional paparazzi standing outside the building, but Westeros is ten times worse. Your picture will be plastered on every magazine cover from Dorne to Casterly Rock, they’ll rip you apart before you can get a word out of your mouth.”

“Dany…”

“Not to mention the fact that if we want to make this  _ official _ , official, we’ll have to get a blessing from the crown. And while you do have money, you’re still Tyroshi. And since Rhaegar has to make decisions based on what’s best for his realm, and you already put a sour taste in the mouths of the citizens thanks to the tabloids, Rhaegar won’t hesitate to get rid of you.”

“Get rid of me? Dany, that's ridiculous.”

“It happened to the one before you and we didn’t even make it to Westeros.”

“You’re just being paranoid. My family has good diplomatic standing, your brother would be a fool to say no to us.”

She rubbed her lips together to properly smudge her lipstick.

“Make no mistake. My brother has many titles but ‘fool’ is not one of them.”

She pecked Daario on the cheek before leaving the bedroom altogether.

“This is only the first time we’ve talked about it. Maybe breakfast would change your mind?”

“It’s nearly noon and buying me expensive food won’t change my mind. You’re not meeting my family. Good morning Jorah.”

Dany’s assigned guard was already sitting in the common room, reading the daily tabloids, his feet propped on the coffee table.

She subscribed to them out of spite. They were like the great Braavosi comedies of old, hilarious and bawdy. Especially with the rumors they liked to make up about the Westerosi royal in their midst.

“Good morning, Your Highness. Have any plans this morning?”

“I was supposed to meet with Missandei for brunch, but she caught an early flight home. Family emergency.”

Jorah hummed and turned the page. She saw a picture of her from last night. Daario’s arm around her shoulders and her lipstick smudged, party dress riding dangerous high on her thighs and the neckline-

“Oh dear. Rhaegar’s not going to like that,” Jorah commented.

The world stopped turning. The beautiful morning came to a screeching halt as she saw the inset and the headline. Heat rushed to her face, burning a torturous path up her throat and ears. An itch simmered under the flushed veneer. 

In all of her time studying the history of the Targaryen Royal Family, a required subject along with High Valyrian, Dany never read anywhere about a princess suffering a nip slip. She was rarely embarrassed about these things, having spent time with the Dothraki, but her stomach insisted on performing acrobatics. It was different when a secluded piece of her was plastered across newsstands. At least the dress wasn’t any lower.

Sure, she let herself have fun in the name of celebrating her graduation, but Dany was always hyper-vigilant. There was no walking home together, they always sat in private booths and rooms, Dany even hid her hair or face whenever possible. And Dany wasn’t hungover so she couldn’t have drunk enough to suffer slips of any kind, especially in her system.

“Gods, I’m a dead woman.”

Daario came into the common room, fully dressed and saw Dany’s predicament.

“Nice,” he commented to the inset of her breast on the front page.

“No.” she slapped his shoulder. “Not  _ nice _ . I’m screwed. Why didn’t you tell me my boob was out!”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t even remember how we got home.”

Dany sank into the couch and buried her head in her hands.

“The gossipers are already down there. A lot more than usual.”

“Your Highness, you told me to ‘fuck off and let you have fun’ so I did. Otherwise, this could’ve been avoided.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

Daario chuckled and Dany’s  cheeks took on a new kind of heat. Her racing heart and mind zeroing in on the one thing they could control . At least her boob would cover up the fact that she walked home with Daario and there were no other photos of their night together. Gods, she’d been so  _ careful _ , and now her time in Braavos was on the line. 

“What do you want me to do?” Daario asked, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I want you to go back to your own apartment.”

“What?”

“I need to figure this out and I need you to not be here while I do it.”

“Dany, baby, I can help.”

“No, you can’t. Jorah…”

She heard the magazine in Jorah’s hands rustle, but all she saw was the Myrish carpet and the way her toes kneaded the plush weave.

“No need. I’m already leaving.”

She heard his heavy footsteps and the door to her apartment slamming. Then the one across the hall. Dany hated that she made him mad, but there was nothing else she could do. She didn’t need his lewd comments when it felt like her world was falling apart. He would be back around later, when he cooled off. 

She exhaled a soft sigh, when she wanted to scream. The urge built up in her throat and burned like fermented mare’s milk. It was like the Gods wanted her to suffer.

“What in the seven hells am I going to do?”

“I’m not your PR consultant but I think you should go out to your brunch and show them that you’re still well-put-together. Remind them that you’re a princess, and a dragon.”

The last thing she wanted to do was show her face. Crawling back into bed, burrowing under the covers, and ignoring the present situation was much more enticing. But she was a dragon. With scales for skin and breath like fire. When Aegon the Conqueror lost a battle, he didn’t retreat to Dragonstone and sulk, he got back on his horse and found a way. She was the blood of the dragon, nothing phased her. 

“You’re right. I’ll go out to brunch and then I’ll start with the damage control.”

“Maybe those should be the other way around,” Jorah suggested.

“I can eat and email at the same time. I’m a natural multi-tasker. What time do you think it is in King’s Landing?”

“Almost ten.”

Dany grabbed her purse and slipped on her boots. Leaving the apartment building was never a problem before but Ser Jorah had to stick closer than usual. She put on her sunglasses and smiled at the cameras, giving them a little wave. Their voices sounded like gibberish as she passed, the flashes only diffused by the early afternoon fog. Her favorite restaurant, The Foghouse, wasn’t too far from her building.

Luckily, the restaurant was exclusive and as soon as Dany stepped through the doors she was ushered to her table on the patio that overlooked the harbor. Her usual sparkling mineral water was waiting for her.

The waitress welcomed them in Braavosi and asked what they wanted to order. When Dany answered her with ‘the usual’, the waitress blinked. Dany gave her the famous, “Don’t ask me, just figure it out” look, one that she avoided unleashing on the staff of any establishment but was too bristly to be bothered. The waitress scurried off, fear in her eyes.

“Do you think it’s too early to start drinking?” Dany consulted Jorah as she looked over the wine menu.

He made a noise of distaste and she abandoned the venture. While she waited for her food, she could try to salvage what was left of her dignity. The hunt through her contact list was a short one, pulling up the information for the only woman who could save her hide. Galazza Galare.

Although based in Meereen, her career as a publicist and relations genius reached further than Asshai. She was behind the success of Dany’s last outreach trip to the area, making sure the right photos were published and bullying the publishers into only positive and glowing reviews. Of course, none of her services came free and Galazza never accepted cash if her customer had something better to offer. That was what secured her a guest lecture at the University of Braavos, which gave her more interns and interest. She played the game better than Dany’s ancestors.

“Is Galazza there? It’s Daenerys,” Dany stated as soon as the dial tone ended.

The receptionist questioned her in the bastard Valyrian of New Ghis, the growling tongue coarse against Dany’s ears. It took everything in her not to hang up.

“Targaryen. Tell her it’s an emergency and she’ll be well compensated,” 

The receptionist put her through. When the other line picked up, an electronic dance beat played beneath Galazza’s greeting.

“Dany, darling, you’ve got to tell me how you do it?”

Galazza’s accented voice was almost a comfort. If there was anyone who could take care of the problem it was her.

“Don’t get me started Galazza. I just want the picture taken down. And an apology from that tabloid if you can get it.”

Fingers tapping on keys accompanied the music, “A formal statement from the publication, I can do. Getting that picture taken down when it’s already on the internet and a majority of the world has seen it will be near impossible, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“What if we did a press release and overshadowed this,” she offered, considering what Daario mentioned earlier about making their “thing” official.

It was tempting to hide away in Essos. To settle down in one of the Free Cities and start on her career as a civil rights attorney, maybe with Daario by her side. Ignoring her family drama was the most enticing part of it. But did she like Daario enough to take the next step? Sure, they'd been messing around for a while and money wouldn't be an issue but Dany couldn't help thinking that the only reason they were still together was that they were comfortable. Or was she too afraid to admit that she was willing to settle down? No, she was a woman who knew what she wanted, and right then she wanted the embarrassing photo of her obliterated. The other issue could be resolved later.

“I don’t think there’s a way to overshadow this, it’s huge. We haven’t seen a Targaryen nude since … never. Well, there was that scandal with Deria Martell’s nude portraits from the 1800s, but she isn’t a real Targaryen and I think they proved it wasn’t really her in the painting.”

“I just don’t want to deal with Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar took after their father when it came to protecting their reputation. And Aerys wasn’t all that concerned with it either until Viserys. 

He was always causing trouble, Elia said it was because he was the middle child and was jealous of the attention Dany and Rhaegar received. Not to mention losing his mother at a very young age. Starting fights, shoplifting, partying, and bringing home unfavorable women. He lashed out at Dany whenever he saw her. Once he attacked her so viciously it left scars and Aerys had them separated. It wasn’t until the year before Dany finished secondary school that Viserys’ behavior became downright terrifying. 

He was out late drinking in Flea Bottom, an area of the Old City known for its seedy bars and criminal activity, and the combination of drugs and alcohol drove him mad. He evaded his security officer for the second time that night and stole a car, driving it off the cliffs at the edge of the city. King Aerys raised the banners, but his body was never found.

“I understand, darling, but it may be out of my control this time. I’ll call you back when I figure something out,” Galazza affirmed.

“Thank you so much. What do I owe you?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

Galazza hung up as Dany’s food arrived. Chopped eggs with fiery peppers, bacon, and a light gravy with orange slices on the side. Instead of digging in right away, she pushed it around her plate. Her appetite stolen by the events of the morning. Galazza’s answer wasn’t enough to settle Dany’s anxiousness and she kept glancing at her phone, waiting for the palace to call.

When she finally decided to eat a bite it tasted like cardboard. Not even the fiery peppers woke up her senses. She sighed at it instead.

“Dany…” Ser Jorah prompted.

He never called her Your Highness when he consoled her. He knew that she needed a friend. 

“Galazza said that it might be impossible to get the photos removed because they’ve been replicated and spread all over the internet,” she responded.

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Galazza works hard and you’re her best client. She’ll try everything she can.”

“But what if it’s not enough?”

“Then we hope Baelish can do damage control,” Jorah joked.

Dany ended up getting her eggs to go so she could mope in her apartment. She smiled at the paps as they passed, trying her best to act as though the world wasn’t crumbling around her. How many people had seen her tit today? How many times was the picture shared and reposted?

She changed into her comfy sweats and a baggy tee-shirt, her favorite fuzzy socks on her feet. Dany balled up on the couch and stared at her phone on the coffee table, willing the screen to stay black.

Part of her wanted it to ring. Maybe she would get to talk to Elia instead of Rhaegar. Hearing her sister-in-law’s soothing Dornish voice would calm her and give her comfort.

Queen Rhaella died after giving birth to Dany, so Elia took it upon herself to fill the hole when she moved to court. Even though Elia was merely engaged to Rhaegar at the time. The two have been close ever since. Dany even stepped in on babysitter duty when Elia needed her to. Despite a whole army of nannies and governesses, Elia insisted on raising her children herself, even when her duties as Queen Matrimonial took precedence.

Dany couldn’t stand the waiting. Patience wasn’t one of her virtues. She busied herself in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and rearranging everything. Ser Jorah came in to shoo her out because she was making too much noise. So she moved to the en suite bathroom and scrubbed down the tiles until her head swam with the chemicals and organized her makeup, throwing out anything considered outdated. She made a point of watering the plants on the terrace even though they got plenty of water sitting outside. She also wanted to move the furniture around, but Ser Jorah stopped her from doing that too. 

She made them a late lunch. Dany wasn’t a great cook, she was decent from a certain point of view, but as long as the dish was simple she could do it. And when they were done, she cleaned the kitchen again. 

Instead of finding more useless tasks to busy herself with, she balled back up on the couch to stare at the phone screen again. It remained unchanged. When she started contemplating a trip to the gym, the aggressive buzz of an incoming call put all thoughts to a stop.

Dany didn’t believe it. Her heart leaped into her throat as she sat up abruptly to look at it. But the collection of numbers wasn’t Elia’s personal, just the palace’s secure line. She slid her finger across the screen with hesitation and turned it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Dany…”

It was Rheagar, disappointment saturating his already stern voice. She toyed with a fuzz on her sweatpants, feeling oddly vulnerable. Dany thought she was past her fear of letting her brother down, something she out-grew when she moved across the Narrow Sea, but a feeling she knew all too well seized her chest.

“I’m glad you called,” she offered.

“I think we’ve both been dreading this conversation.”

_ Since this morning _ , she thought. 

“Dany, I think-”

“Rhaegar, I’m really sorry. I know I messed up, but I honestly didn’t know. I was too tipsy and should’ve left the back way but if I’m being honest I didn’t think there would be so many photographers.”

“Dany, it’s time you came home.”

“What?”

“Besides your behavior in Essos, Elia and I think it’s time you came home. Aegon and Rhaenys ask about you a lot. They miss you.”

“They do?”

She’d only been home for two days the last time. Hardly enough time for young children to enjoy their aunt. And they crowned Dany the fun aunt because she brought them candy and gifts from Essos, told the best stories and always talked with them about things they loved. 

“The annual charity gala is tomorrow and we want you there. I’ve arranged for a flight early tomorrow morning so you’ll be home in enough time. You’d better be on it.”

Dany didn’t respond. She didn’t know how. Something in her yearned for Westeros but another part of her dug its stubborn heels into the ground and refused. She didn’t belong in the spotlight. The events of last night proved that. 

That was why they wanted her home. So they could control her movements. 

Before Dany could come up with a wiseass remark, the line clicked. Rhaegar was gone but her chance to stay in Essos wasn’t, she refused to think it was. She needed to pack, her brother wouldn’t appreciate it if she was late for her flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something that I've been working on for about half a year and I'm very excited to share. I've never had a story come together so well and flow out of me as this particular one did so I can't wait to see how it's received. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you're feeling it, I love interacting with readers!


	3. the land was godless and free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's temper gets the best of him again

* * *

The music was louder than it should’ve been for an empty dive bar. The bright guitar and thrumming bass verging on headache-inducing as one song after song blurred together into an unrecognizable cluster of sounds. And the neon lights that usually went unnoticed were ostentatiously bright, becoming tackier as the night wore on, in the same way the alcohol became tasteless. The bar was sticky, full of dents and dust poorly disguised under layers of varnish.]

It wasn’t the sort of place visitors to the North would expect to encounter members of the royal family. But if they had any suspicions about the gaggle of university-aged youths who looked vaguely familiar, they didn’t act on them. And the Stark children preferred it that way.

Despite being the center of their legislative body, the little village of Wintertown remained sleepy for most of the year. Busiest in the fall and winter, when the private school opened and council members returned for the last few sessions. It was near deserted in the summer and without the harassment of cameras or locals, they came out to play like the elusive creatures they were. The Smoking Log, a tavern composed of logs and plaster that favored a lonesome cabin and was as old as the town itself, was their haunt of choice. 

The usual outing group was full of complicated heraldry and impressive peerage. His Royal Highness, Crowned Prince Jon; His Highness, Prince Robb; His Grace, Theon Greyjoy, a representative of the Iron Island; and the most recent addition, Her Highness, Princess Sansa. A strange conglomerate of personalities given their family dynamic.

From day one, Robb and Jon were built-in-best friends. They were close enough in age (Jon being three months older than Robb) but different enough in temperament that even if they weren’t brothers, Jon liked to think they’d be close. When their father decided to legitimize Jon, therefore changing the line of succession, a rift grew between them. Obviously, Robb wasn’t too pleased and it would be a few years before he came to terms with it. The realization that there were fewer eyes on him helped. 

Sansa was her mother’s child, however, and grew up with an ingrained dislike of Jon. When she started secondary school and it became clear she could never have normal friendships, she started hanging around her brothers. They taught her how to fight and drive and beat every game they played. In return, she kept them in line when they went out and helped out with their pranks, though she was a notoriously bad secret keeper. She was only seventeen (seventeen and _three-fourths_ , she would remind you) but the owner of the Smoking Log didn’t care as long as they paid their tab. And she rarely bothered them, preferring to talk to anyone else present, and as she put it, ‘vibe’.

Robb’s girlfriend Talisa joined the fray when he brought her back from university in Barrowton. She fit right in and held her liquor as well as the Starks. And she liked to hold that above their heads, pushing the men of the group well past their tipping points. A challenge they gladly accepted without much forethought. Wintertown was deserted, who would care.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re tipsy, Snow,” she taunted.

Only Ygritte was allowed to call him Snow, a lucky thing since he despised the nickname. As the crowned prince of the North, she should’ve referred to him as “Your Royal Highness” but they’d known each other for so long, referring to him as anything other than Snow was foreign. 

Ygritte wasn’t an official member of their entourage but she was their longest-lasting friend. Her father was the ambassador for the wildlings living in the Gift. When he left the position and moved back, Ygritte stayed and started working at the tavern.

“Someday you’ll have to stop calling me that,” he warned.

“Aye. When we’re both dead and in the ground.”

The fiery red-head was always giving him a hard time. It was a second job for her.

“I’m good for another glass,” he stated, setting his down.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” she filled it. “And tell your brother to stop with the PDA, it’s grossing everyone out.”

Jon looked to the booth in the corner. Sure enough, Talisa and Robb were all over each other. It was drunk and sloppy and Jon felt the urge to vomit. 

“Would you like to join them?” Theon Greyjoy, always overconfident and on the sleazier side of it, asked.

Ygritte leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at him, “I thought I told you I didn’t like your kind.”

“Ironborn?” 

“Men,” Jon answered and took a sip of his whiskey. It wasn’t burning as it had at the beginning of the night. 

Ygritte reached over the bar to punch him in the shoulder and Jon spilled a little on himself. 

“Shut up, Snow. You know better than anyone I play both fields and I do it damn well.”

They both laughed like it was some great joke but Jon had to look away from her. Theon slipped away to terrorize some other single women, grumbling about the slim selection.

Unfortunately for him, the only single woman he hadn’t hit on was the owner, who was over the hill though her fierce face and voice were ageless.

The door to the bar opened and a group of men strode in, bringing a gust of fresh air with them. Jon didn’t like their demeanor as they swaggered to a table and settled around it, one of them looking his way, forcing Jon to duck his head to postpone recognition.

“What’s their deal?” he inquired.

“Those three? They’re regulars and they love picking fights. Cops’ve been here every night to haul ‘em off.”

“I don’t remember them.”

“You haven’t been here in months, Snow. You’d better keep your head down, they know you’re an easy target.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got a rep for your short temper. Not to mention you’re the crowned fucking prince of the North. They’d kill to be able to boast they got under your skin. Better take my advice and stop drinking.”

Jon considered it but took another drink from his glass. The reputation she mentioned was one he was still trying to correct. A relic from a time when he was young and angry with the world on his shoulders, indulging in every fight he found lurking in dark corners. Even though he cleaned up his act by graduation and decided on military service instead of university, people had a hard time forgetting the stupid outbursts. And his actions during the first few months back from the Wall weren’t helping any. 

He surveyed the room again. There was supposed to be another red-head in attendance, but she was missing. 

“Where’s Sansa?”

Ygritte didn’t know either. Then he spotted her, walking past the gang of troublesome boys. His grip tightened around his glass and he could see the lecherous looks in their eyes. 

“Sansa can handle herself. Just relax.” Ygritte attempted to make him see sense but he was too far gone to heed her advice.

He told Ygritte to close their tab, figuring it was time they headed out anyway, and made his way to his sister’s side. 

“Hey Princess, sit and stay awhile,” one of them called out.

“No,” she deflected.

Sansa was loveable and fun and she never wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings. She could also be down-right mean when she needed to, leaving bruised egos and knuckles in her wake.

“Why not?” another questioned, his tone suggestive.

“Because I don’t want to.”

The men laughed, “That doesn’t sound like a very good excuse.”

“How’s this one? I don’t want to because you’re a bunch of sleazy creeps.”

“Only for you baby,” one of them winked.

She scoffed and walked away, but one of them got up and stopped her. It was clear she couldn’t control the situation anymore, so Jon stepped in.

“Everything alright Sansa?” Jon placed his hand on her shoulder.

She opened her mouth to respond but was cut off.

“Excuse you, we were having a conversation.”

“I think that’s over.”

“I think the lady should decide whether it’s over or not.”

“It never even started,” Sansa spit.

Jon put his arm out to turn her away as the group of agitators whooped and whistled at her aggression.

“Sansa, why don’t you go round up the others. I think it’s time to leave.”

“Jon, I-”

“Sansa,” he warned.

She sneered at the men around her but got out of the way. 

“Hold up, it’s the pretty boy prince they keep locked up in the castle,” the one standing in front of Jon noticed.

He was taller than Jon but that never scared him. Jon beat men twice his size while sparring with Ser Rodrik.

“Which one?” 

“The bastard,” the one in front of Jon leered down at him, “They put a crown on his head and thought we would be fooled.”

Jon tried to shrug their comments off but it never did him any good. After all the legal ins and outs, he remained a bastard in public opinion only and he hadn’t encountered anyone bold enough to use the word since secondary school. It stirred up dormant feelings that never dulled, the bite and sting renewed. 

“Careful, you’ll hurt his feelings. Our dear prince is known for lashing out.”

Jon tried his best to control his anger. Nothing good ever came from the fights he started.

“Shame he’s so protective over his _half_ -sister. We could’ve had some fun.”

The thick sound of his fist colliding with the flesh of the man’s cheek was music to his ears. The ache settling through his arm awakened the reflexes he hadn’t used in a while. Jon almost forgot about the other two and narrowly avoided suffering a punch to the face. However, the third man in the group was either much sober or had better aim because his hit landed and sent Jon into a table.

The alcohol in his system wasn’t helping. His head spinning and the familiar metallic taste in his mouth was no more sobering than the punch that caused it. He saw Sansa coming back from across the bar with Robb draped over Talisa’s shoulder. Some help he was going to be.

One of the men got back in front of him. Jon prepared to throw another punch, but someone’s leg kicked out the attacker’s knees and gave him a solid strike across the face. Jon saw the window of opportunity and threw himself at the other man that was still standing, elbowing his jaw and kneeing him in the groin. 

Ygritte came from behind the bar with a bag of ice and a clean rag, “I’ve already called the police so you’d better get your asses out of here.”

The Starks didn’t need to be told twice. Jon took the ice and rag while Sansa dragged Theon away from the bar and Talisa helped Robb the rest of the way. 

“You should’ve let me handle it,” Sansa reprimanded.

“I’m sorry-”

“Those dumbasses are going to run their mouths-”

“I know.”

“And we’ll have a whole new wave of critics claiming you’re unfit for rule.”

“You won’t tell Catelyn, right?”

“I won’t,” she confirmed, “But I’m not helping you with dad, that’s your own battle.”

Jon almost forgot about the small council meeting the next morning. He would have preferred to miss it but his father expected him there, always stressing that it was important to watch as well as participate. But he arrived late and received too many disdainful looks.

He sat to the side of the room, deflecting to his old habit of fading into the background and watching, wishing he was invisible. If he remained still with his head down they wouldn’t notice his swollen eye. The lords of the great houses all sat along the table, sneaking looks. Roose Bolton, Duke of the Weeping Water and Lord of the Dreadfort, didn’t try to hide his distaste.

It was known the Boltons held an ancient grudge against the Starks. Ever since Jon’s ancestor, Brandon Stark, defeated them in battle and forced them to stop flaying their enemies. Jon, and most other people in the North, held the suspicion they never stopped the practice. It was rumored that Ramsey, Bolton’s bastard son, had a taste for flaying small animals and Roose condoned the behavior. For once, the stigma around children born out of wedlock proved justified as it kept the sadist away from court.

“I think that’s all for today,” King Eddard stated, rising from his stately chair at the head of the table. 

He thanked the lords of attending and they bowed and left.

“You’re being awfully sullen, Jon.”

He arranged the papers in front of him. Jon ran a hand through his messy curls, exhaling loudly.

“Long night out?”

“You could call it that,” he grumbled.

“Do you mind telling me why you were late this morning?”

Jon stayed silent and tried to avoid eye contact.

Ned looked at his son and sighed, “Gods Jon, look at your eye. What happened?”

“I got into a fight,”

“Over what?”

Jon wanted to hold his tongue but Ned taught him to always be honest and do the right thing. And lying at that moment seemed like a bad idea.

“I was protecting Sansa,”

“You took Sansa drinking with you?”

“She’s almost eighteen.”

“Her age doesn’t matter, I know Sansa can handle herself. But you … this is the third fight this month. It’s a good thing Ygritte watches out for you otherwise we’d have an even bigger mess to clean up,”

“I’m sorry,”

“What goes on inside that head of yours?”

“It’s not easy being your bastard son who got lucky,”

“Sit down,” Ned commanded and Jon did as told, “When I chose to legitimize you it wasn’t because I thought you were lucky. I knew you were going to make a great leader.”

Jon huffed. Ned started the legitimization process when Jon was thirteen years old, there was no way he showed promise as a leader then. He was following around in Robb’s footsteps like a lost puppy and avoiding Catelyn like the pox.

“The North is heading towards a new age and she needs someone who will guide her through the confusion.”

His father’s words were idealistic, as they usually were. The North hadn’t changed in the past 100 years as far as tradition was concerned. Technologically, sure, but the people were still set in their ways. The Old Gods and the old holidays were honored as they always had been, each one ingrained in their way of life. 

“You don’t believe me now but you’ll understand,”

It sounded like Ned wanted to put a ‘soon’ at the end of the phrase but Jon didn’t question it. He wanted to get out of that room, whose walls seemed to be getting closer the longer he sat there. If he didn’t know any better he would be convinced they had eyes as well.

“Jon, your mother wouldn’t like the way you’ve been acting either.”

Ned rarely mentioned Jon’s mother. With all the information Jon knew about her one would think she never existed and he was born by some miracle. He didn’t even know her name and he didn’t think the castle staff would appreciate him running around, interrogating them for information on the King’s old flame. Especially Her Majesty, Catelyn. 

Catelyn despised Jon, though his only crime was being born. He supposed cheating her precious Robb out of the title he was meant to inherit could be added to his list of offenses. In her mind, a child was a more acceptable target for her aggression than her husband, whose actions were the reason they were in that mess. It was worse when he was younger. She would spit names at him as he passed by, exclude him from her children's lessons, and sit him furthest away during dinners. As he got older and showed more responsibility and leadership, she relaxed. Mostly because Robb was still galavanting around Barrowton at university and Jon was serving time in the military. There was still the matter of her evil looks for no reason but some things couldn’t be changed.

“Why is it that you use my mother to condemn me but you’ll never speak about her otherwise?”

“Your mother … oh, you know I don’t like talking about her,” Ned remarked.

“I know,” Jon began, “but I would like to know more.”

Most people could at least form a picture in their minds when they thought of their mothers. The most Jon could do was a blank silhouette.

Ned smiled, “One day.”

He stood and began to leave the room. He paused in the doorway, “Oh, and Jon?”

“Yeah, dad?”

“Next time you start a fight over a girl, don’t let her finish it for you.”

He shared a smile with his father before finally escaping the council room. 

They had an emergency family meeting later that day. Robb was sure it was about the scuffle at the bar last night but Sansa disagreed. Part of Jon wished it was so he could know what to expect. 

They gathered in the library, the most private place in the whole keep. A maze of shelves and tomes, none of which had been touched in decades, and the classic stuffy library smell. Despite the lack of use, the space remained dust free and sometimes a maester roaming the aisles. Sansa, Robb, and Jon all arrived together. Although they had close proximity to the Stark family, Talisa and Theon weren’t allowed to attend the family meetings. They were for blood-related members of the family only, excluding Catelyn. As mother to the royal children, it was her right to be there.

The library was ancient and still warmed by giant hearths that provided a sense of weight and distinction. The place where the old Kings of Winter would consult the maesters in times of turmoil, gathered around tables and considering maps and scrolls. Jon couldn’t help the feeling that a tumultuous time was upon them, why else meet in a place that carried such a reputation.

Sansa situated herself on the leather wingback chair, leaving Robb and Jon to stand beside it. Catelyn and Ned stood with their backs to the hearth which hosted a roaring fire. The North was never warm. It was still early summer so the snows were frequent and the temperatures were just above freezing every day.

Above them loomed two great portraits of Rickard and Lyarra Stark, the grandparents of the current Stark children, whom they never met. Rickard and his eldest son, Brandon, died in a plane crash over the mountains. Lyarra passed shortly after. Jon imagined they would be as frigid as Catelyn was toward him, at least, that was the emotion conveyed in the paintings. The stoic, steadfastness of the North that ran through the Stark blood. 

“Where are Arya and Bran?” Catelyn asked.

The twins, as they were more commonly known, were always causing trouble. It was their nature, infamously riddled with pranks and uncontrollable volume. And now they both had driver’s licenses. Catelyn tried to regulate their time allowed outside of the keep but they never listened. They were at the age of rebellion and experimentation, treating the rules like guidelines and seeing just how far you could bend them.

Jon remembered what happened when he defied one of Catelyn’s rules when he was a teen. Even though he avoided trouble-making when he could, he was accused of being a bad influence on Robb and Theon. Though it had been Theon and Robb’s idea to go running off into the Wolfswood without a security escort. They paid the price in extra lessons on Northern history, complete with one of the longest essays Jon ever wrote. 

The door swung open and in Arya came, running a hand through her short dark hair. A hack-job she’d done herself, much to the dismay of the traditional ladies around her. Out of all the Stark children, Jon and the twins favored their father the most with dark hair and grey eyes, the signature look of the North. Robb and Sansa got the bright blue and auburn red of the Tullys from which Catelyn came.

“Sorry we’re late,” Arya gushed, “Micha stopped us on the way in from the garage.”

Bran came bounding in after Arya. He was always slower than his sister but he kept up just fine. The two settled on the floor beside the chair. They made a pretty picture, he was sure, all the King’s children posed for a regal portrait, donning the same blank looks as the relatives leering down at them.

“It’s fine, Arya. But now that we’re all here we can get started. The King of the United Kingdoms of Westeros extended an invitation to their annual charity gala,” Ned stated.

If his father expected gasps of excitement, they didn’t come. Instead, his children looked at him in confusion and question.

“Why would they do that? We haven’t mingled with the south in a century,” Robb quipped.

“The cause they’ve decided to support this year is environmental conservation. Seeing as it’s a cause we support greatly, we’ve decided to attend.”

Sansa sat up straighter, he had her undivided attention. She was obsessed with the southern nobility and considered them much more interesting than the Northerners. They never went a day without some southern scandal being recounted at the dinner table. Everyone had learned to listen with half an ear or tune her out completely.

“I will travel south with Jon, Robb, and Sansa. Catelyn will stay here with Arya and Bran. We should only be gone a week at most.”

There weren’t any complaints. Jon and Robb knew it was their duty to represent the North alongside their father. Sansa wanted to see the south, Arya and Bran couldn’t care less, and Catelyn knew she needed to stay and hold down the keep. She hated traveling anyway and Jon couldn’t blame her, it was the one thing they could agree on. Hours cooped up in a car with minimal stops only to end up in a foreign land. He avoided it when he could.

“We leave tomorrow morning so I expect you packed tonight,” Ned addressed his eldest three then turned to his youngest, “And I expect you to behave while I’m gone.”

“It’s not like we’ve got the whole castle to ourselves, you’re leaving mom,” Bran pointed out.

“And some expectations for behavior while we’re south. No fighting, no running away from your security officers, and as always, lots of smiling. We are their guests and we want to leave a good impression. Now go pack.”

“That wasn’t what I was expecting,” Sansa confessed as they descended the stairs.

“How are we supposed to entertain ourselves if we’re the only ones our age in the castle? The Prince and Princess are kids.” Robb asked.

“There is the King’s sister but she lives in Essos for most of the year. I doubt she’ll come home for a charity gala. You know, I read the craziest thing about her this morning!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Bisexual Ygritte is the move
> 
> 2\. I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment if you feel compelled to.


	4. if i was a man, then i'd be the man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany arrives in King's Landing

* * *

“The Falcon is en route,” The bodyguard reported.

Dany despised her code name. Falcon. Compared to the other code names of the family, Dragon, Eagle, Swan, and Raven, creatures of elegance and awe, Falcon was terribly underwhelming. The falcon was a bird people trained to hunt for them. It was a bird for enjoyment, not a bird that commanded respect.

A wall of flashing bulbs and shouting reporters awaited her on the tarmac, blinding the princess and assaulting her ears. The firestorm from yesterday was still fresh in their minds and after Dany spent six years avoiding them, they were desperate to hear the first words from her mouth. They would be sorely disappointed to learn she wasn’t having a question and answer session on the landing strip. More of the same awaited her past the automatic doors of the airport. The extra King’s Guardsmen helped forge a path to the motorcade idling behind ahead.

The cacophony became muffled, distant as another world, when the car door shut and sealed her off from their gaze. The security detail fell in line to begin the unceremonious procession. Ser Jorah sat in the backseat beside her, with another guard in the passenger seat and an armed chauffeur. The standard protocol for a ride around the city and a scene Dany was much used to. She kept her gaze fixed on the world outside as they pulled away from King’s Landing International and into the busy streets.

The airport was located in the new city. An entrancing view of sleek and modern high rise buildings. Business headquarters, vegan restaurants, and clothing stores advertised themselves in the clear windows. It was the place of the nouveau riche and trendsetters, properly distanced from the mansions of the old money. The best parties happened there, in penthouse apartments and rooftop swimming pools. She’d seen as much on the feeds of those so-called influencers while she was trapped in stuffy court ceremonies.

As they entered the old city, a dilapidated tourist trap meant to encapsulate centuries of history and Westerosi pride, Dany remembered why she wanted to leave so badly. The infrastructure was crumbling and everything was cramped, there was hardly room to breathe. All of the charm and nostalgic beauty destroyed with the lack of care and effort to preserve it. When Dany applied to the esteemed Braavos University, they were more than ecstatic to accept a member of the Westerosi royal family. Dany was just as excited to leave King’s Landing.

Studying overseas was the best decision. People cared less about what was going on in Westeros and weren’t phased when Dany and her security officer were out and about. Granted, there were still a few paps waiting outside her apartment but it was a much-needed reprieve from her life back home.

People going about their mundane tasks on the uneven cobbles stopped and gawked at the heavy vehicles maneuvering the narrow streets. Did they know Dany was back, or were they waiting on an official announcement from the crown? She missed being able to smile at people as she passed them and take in the sun, instead she was hidden away under an armored hood and tinted windows. 

She tore her gaze away from the saturated image of the world around her and looked at herself in the rearview. The bags under her eyes hadn’t improved and her skin was dry from the jet air. She was in no shape to see her family again. They expected a perfect princess and the best she could give them was a tired college student. 

“Everything alright, Your Highness?”

The voice of Ser Jorah brought her back to reality.

“Nothing,” she assured Jorah, “It just feels weird to be back.”

“I know what you mean. A few years of people not giving you a second glance and now everyone’s on your arse.”

The chauffeur coughed to show his distaste for Jorah’s language, to which he muttered an apology. Dany chuckled. They had grown too relaxed while in Essos, too comfortable with each other. That would have to change. He was her guard, not her best friend.

Of course, it hadn’t always been like that. When Jorah was first assigned to Dany, he took his duties with extreme seriousness, as they were drilled into him by years of experience. But when she had a breakdown while studying for her Essos Political Science class, he broke protocol and offered her solace. An odd friendship grew between them and soon enough she had Jorah trying to drink her under the table at college parties.

Despite people in Braavos not caring about Westerosi politics, they hesitated to befriend a royal. Probably afraid of the customs and rules that came with it. There was one girl in her Valyrian Studies class that managed to get over that fear, Missandei from Naath. Dany wished Missandei was with her. She would find a positive spin on the dreadful situation, or at least a sarcastic comment Dany could snort at.

The motorcade came to the front gates of the Red Palace. It had once been a great keep built of red stone that looked over the whole city but a great portion of it was destroyed in the bloody civil war known as The Dance of the Dragons. Dany’s ancestors had a great love for the grand mansions in Essos and had what was left of the Red Keep demolished and replaced with a sprawling palace in red marble. It looked even more imposing than the original. Although Dany had only seen portraits of the old keep, she knew the pinkish stone couldn’t have put fear into the hearts of those that would steal it. 

Dany knew this because the sight of the Red Palace filled her with dread and discomfort. Years of lessons and protocol, being talked down to and reprimanded for idiotic things. She tasted freedom in Essos, a dangerous thing for someone like her, and now she expected Rhaegar would ask her to give it all up for the sake of reputation. For both her family and herself. She took a deep breath in an attempt to control the increasing speed of her heart.

The iron gate opened with the grace and opulence it commanded, allowing the princess through. The cars took their usual arc around the enormous fountain in the front courtyard. A silver scene of three dragons breathing water instead of fire. Come to think of it, Dany hated that fountain too. 

She slid out of the car, trying to move quickly so the paparazzi outside the gates couldn’t capture her dressed in leggings and athletic sneakers. Varys would have her head if even an inch of her body got published in something so casual. She added the dress code to the mental list of grievances she started when her plane landed.

Petyr Baelish, Lord Chamberlain and resident pain-in-the-ass, met her inside the doors, matching her brisk pace through the cavernous entry hall. Their footfalls echoed in the space, a haunting sound.

“Princess Daenerys, it is so good to see you again.”

“Wish I could say the same to you,” she deadpanned.

Baelish was never her friend and Dany was more than willing to take out her frustrations on him. He was the man they sent to remind her of protocol when she broke it, and he was in charge of her schedule while she was home or on official duty.

He sighed and continued, “As I’m sure you know, the annual charity gala is tonight. The seamstress has already prepared selections for you to choose from and is waiting in your room. I suggest you hurry there.”

Dany rolled her eyes.

“It would also be in your best interest to know that the King of the North, Eddard Stark, and three of his children will be in attendance tonight,” Baelish reported.

Dany stopped dead in her tracks to look back at him.

“The King of the North?”

“Yes. And his three children. Crowned Prince Jon, Prince Robb, and Princess Sansa.”

“What are they doing down here?”

The North was an independent country. When the last in the line of Aegon’s to conquer Westeros reached the North, he respected Torren Stark’s refusal to kneel, leaving them independent from the United Kingdoms of Westeros, but not without repercussions. The North was cut off from the rest of Westeros, no access to trade or military support. Members of the royal family hadn’t traveled south in a hundred years.

As far as Dany was concerned they were a boring lot. Their names were rarely mentioned in the tabloids and they never did press interviews. They never appeared on TV and the paparazzi seemed uninterested. The complete opposite of the Targaryen family, whose faces were plastered on every magazine cover and nightly news editorial, who existed to be seen in the best of lights at all times. 

“The charity represented tonight is the champion cause of His Majesty, Eddard Stark. The palace extended an invitation to them and they accepted,” Baelish explained.

Dany hummed in acceptance of his statement, but she had the suspicion there was something deeper going on. Rhaegar learned from their ancestors to always have an ulterior motive, to never allow a stranger into your home unless the stranger had something to offer. That philosophy was one Dany lived by, although she employed it specifically for romantic partners.

Another set of footsteps entered the hall. Her heart lurched at the excited patter of little feet, icy exterior dissolving. 

“Auntie Dee! You’re home.” 

Her niece and nephew, Rhaenys and Aegon, sprinted through the corridor. She bent down to hug them, giving them kisses on their foreheads. She didn’t want to let them go. The ache in her chest reminded her of just how much she missed them.

“How long are you going to be home this time, Dany?” Rhaenys asked, hope in her dark eyes.

“I don’t know yet, Your Royal Highness,”

“Longer than a day right?” Aegon begged.

“I think I can manage that.”

The children’s governess appeared from around the corner, red-faced and out of breath.

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness, they saw your car pull through the front gates and took off. I told them that you’d want to be alone, but it appears they no longer listen to me.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad to see them,” Dany assured the woman.

“Do we have to go back to lessons?” whined Aegon.

“We’d much rather spend time with you!”

Dany laughed, “I’m afraid your lessons are more important than me. How else can you become the greatest Queen and Prince there ever was?”

The kids groaned but didn’t protest when Dany took their hands and led them back up the stairs. The whole way back Rhaenys and Aegon filled her in on how well regular school was going and all of the friends they made. And she praised them for their wonderful jobs and promised to see them as soon as she could before handing them off to the governess.

As soon as she turned around, there was Baelish, looking rather upset at the distraction. 

“Your Highness, if you would please pick up the pace. Or you’ll go to the gala half-dressed and Gods know we do not need another headline like yesterday.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Of course, she did know. Maybe drinking Red Priestess vodka all night was a terrible idea, but in her defense, she wasn’t buying the drinks. Braavosi custom dictated that it was rude to refuse a drink when someone else was buying. 

“I see. And the topless sunbathing incident with the _Khal_ off the coast of the Summer Isles? That wasn’t you either?”

“What are you implying?”

“Your Highness, your exploits in Essos are not lost on Westeros. People talk and what they have to say isn’t nice.”

Dany rolled her eyes, “So what? Dragons don’t care about the opinions of sheep. Besides Baelish, if there were an issue Rhaegar would’ve told me.”

She lied straight through her teeth. Obviously, Rhaegar said something about her behavior. And she was confident Baelish knew too. 

“Of course, Your Highness. Whatever you say.”

Baelish made a gesture for her to walk ahead of him as they approached her apartments. 

They hadn’t changed since her graduation from secondary school. She ran her hand over the painted walls. Scenes of courtyards, gardens, and ancient castles painted like they were straight from a medieval manuscript. She tapped her finger on the nose of a princess engaged in a dance with a prince, as she did every time she passed. The princess was supposed to be the fair Alysanne but there was a surprising lack of a dragon anywhere near.

The plush bed looked more inviting than it should have and Dany could feel the exhaustion under her eyes, dragging them down. She had too much to think about and doubted sleep would come easily. When she turned the corner she laid eyes on Elia Martell, resting on the ottoman in the closet through another set of archways. She stood and opened her arms, looking as though she’d just come from a royal engagement in her pristine white palazzo pants and styled hair, devoid of any flyaways or frizz.

Dany ran to her sister-in-law, crushing her in a hug, the familiar perfume of floral citrus filled her nose. A signature scent designed just for her by some atelier who then commercialized it. Elia squeezed back and rubbed Dany’s back reassuringly. 

“I’m sure you know all about it,” Dany sighed into Elia’s chest. 

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she warned, “but Rhaegar was very upset.”

“I figured.”

“Dany, how did this happen?”

“Elia, I don’t know! I wasn’t even drunk.”

The in-house seamstress was well prepared for Dany’s arrival. A rack of red gowns waited for her. Red was Dany’s favorite and she always wore it to important functions, much to the dismay of Varys. He claimed the color was too bold and harsh for a young, unmarried princess.

“Either way, there’s a stinking mess and it’s stressing Rhaegar out. If his hair wasn’t already so light, it would be turning grey. And who was that man you were leaning on?” The slight scandalous tone in Elia’s voice wasn’t missed.

Dany ran her hand over the expensive fabrics. Velvets and silks, embroidered with silver and detailed in black, dramatic and rich. They were perfect for pushing the envelope during an evening amongst high born and elite.

“Daario Naharis.”

Dany selected the first dress and held it up to her frame. Dark red knit with a shimmer. Shape hugging with a slit up the back and low cut neckline. She stepped behind the privacy screen to try it on, slipping out of her regular clothing.

“You mean the Tyroshi tech millionaire?”

“His father’s the millionaire. Daario will just inherit all of it,” Dany called from behind the screen.

“Why do Rhaenys and Aegon have lessons? It’s summer.”

“I wanted to make sure it was just you and I today.”

The seamstress zipped up the dress and Dany stepped out and onto the fitting platform. As she turned about, her many reflections mimicked her and the sparkling dress she wore. It looked more suited to a school dance than rubbing elbows with Westerosi elite.

“What do you think?” she stuck out her right leg to accentuate the slit.

“It’s a little plain,” a voice said from the doorway.

Dany whipped her head around to see her best friend all the way from Essos, throat and chest tightening at the sight of her.

“Missy!”

She hiked the skirt away from her feet and charged at her friend, wrapping her arms around the Naathi’s slim frame. They had only been apart a couple of days but Dany already missed the comforting aura of her best friend. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had a family emergency in Naath,” Dany questioned.

“That’s just where my flight connected. Elia called me a few days ago and told me I should be here.”

Elia gave Dany a playful glance. So they’d been scheming to drag her back to King’s Landing for a while. With the new information Baelish told her, it made sense. Foreign royalty breaking protocol to visit the southern court required all senior members of the family to be present. But Dany wasn’t exactly a model of Southern excellence and pride, she spent six years trying to ignore it.

“Well, it’s good you’re here. I need someone to agree with me on everything.”

The seamstress coughed, a sound of acute annoyance, and Dany left her best friend’s arms to try on the next option. A crimson A-line piece in chiffon, dark and flowy.

“Are you sure you don’t need someone to make sure your boobs stay in your dress?”

Elia snickered but Dany rolled her eyes.

“We get it! I made a bad decision and it came back to bite me in the ass. Add it to the list.”

Dany let out a strangled breath as the seamstress pulled the ties tight around her. The dress was supposed to flow, why did it need to be so tight? She stepped back up to the platform.

“I like that one,” Elia offered.

“Too sweet,” Missy and Dany said at the same time.

She stepped down and back behind the screen, the seamstress undressing her again.

The last time she tried on that many dresses was for Rhaegar’s coronation. They were still mourning for King Aerys so everyone was dressed in black, somber and subdued in a time of celebration. Dany remembered the dress she chose. High-necked, black a-line, covered in dark flowers that turned silver at the bottom. She remembered standing in the front row of the Sept, weighed down with silver jewelry and watching Rhaegar ascend the steps. And all she could think of at that moment was their father and how gaudy and disrespectful it all felt.

The seamstress pulled the ties of the next dress painfully tight and sent her off. The soft red satin pleated around her chest in structured pleats like a seashell. It hugged her hip and gathered into a burst, fanning around her feet. Dany did a few turns and twists, her many reflections copying her.

“That’s the one,” Missy praised in a hushed tone that bordered on reverence.

Elia hummed in agreement. The more conservative fashion columnists would shame her for the lack of straps and the figure-hugging shape, calling it a degradation of traditional values rooted in their precious religion. But the nu-age reporters, the ones who preached secularism and progression, would hail it for the strong stance it promoted. When Dany just wanted to tick off her brother and their stuffy court. She didn’t mind, she liked when they read too far into her choices. 

On her way to change Dany said, “We can figure out the jewels later. We need to discuss my fall from grace.”

She wrapped a black silk robe around herself and walked straight onto the settee at the end of her bed, turned, and let herself fall. The thick duvet and lush mattress met her in a rush, forcing the air out of her lungs in a heavy sigh. Missandei crawled up beside her and stroked her silver hair.

“Remember at Galazza’s lecture when she said that there’s no such thing as bad publicity?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way for royalty. We try to keep unplanned appearances of our names to a minimum,” Elia stated as she appeared at Dany’s side. “The more invisible we are, the more the public likes us. Although they seem to love when we dress up and spend time among them.”

Her dark hair fell over her shoulder. They used to have girls’ nights where they would watch sappy movies, eat popcorn, and braid each other's hair. They always watched a dated Dornish film about a Rhoynish prince disguised as a Meereenese pit fighter. Dany would always gush about the leading man. Elia mentioned she went to school with him and they dated for a brief time. She wondered what Elia’s life would be like if it weren’t for the arranged marriage between her and Rhaegar. 

“I need a drink,” Dany pouted, sitting up.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Missy asked, the tone in her voice made it clear what she was referencing.

“If I’m going to get through this evening of ass kissers and sticks-in-the-mud, I’m going to need something stiff.”

“I think alcohol is the last thing you need,” Elia said sternly. 

“This is so… unfair. If I were a man and that picture got out, this wouldn’t be an issue-”

“Dany,” Elia warned.

“-but because I’m a woman my boob is deemed offensive and-”

“Dany!” 

She looked to Elia, who never snapped at her, with wounded eyes.

“I know you’re upset and that’s understandable. But it’s our lives. So please, do me a favor, and deal with it. You’re of noble birth, not some social climber.”

Missandei watched Elia with enraptured interest. She’d never seen someone put Dany in her place before. But then again, Dany was usually in the right. 

“How long am I going to be stuck here?”

“What?” Missy asked.

“We called Dany home because she needed a time out,” Elia explained to Missandei before turning her attention back on Dany, “And that’s indefinite for right now. You need to tell me more about this Daario.”

“We’ve been hooking up for a year and he wants to make it _official_.”

“Well I hope you told him no,” Elia gasped.

“Don’t worry about it Elia, he won’t be coming to Westeros anytime soon. And Rheagar would never let me formally date a Tyrohsi.”

“Why?” Missandei asked, she’d never been a big fan of Daario. 

“The monarchy is already in a delicate position because we represent an outdated establishment. Allowing Dany to seriously entertain a foreign millionaire would make us seem unpatriotic.” Elia stroked Dany’s hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“But I can do it in my free time, undercover.”

“Your Majesty, the hairdresser has arrived,” Elia’s assistant reported.

She sighed and got up, brushing the wrinkles out of her pants.

“I’ll see you two at the gala.”

Dany groaned and Missandei giggled, “You still have to find me a dress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we had some confusion in the comments on Chapter 2, which I certainly did not help with. That's what I get for replying to comments when I wake up mid-sleep. But let me clarify...
> 
> 1\. Dany and Daario are a thing right now, but as far as we're concerned it's on the rocks
> 
> 2\. Neither Jon nor Dany know of the arranged marriage plan (that will be cleared up in the next couple of chapters)
> 
> 3\. Once they find out, Dany is going to do the responsible thing and end her involvement with Daario (hence why I stated that her relationship with him was for character development purposes, sorry for the confusion.)
> 
> 4\. Any other questions, comments, or concerns, please leave them below.


	5. i will not fold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns the real reason why his father brought him South

* * *

They left Winterfell at that special hour when the sun tinged the sky in soft pastels. The motorcade of cars traveling to White Harbor, the closest thing the North had to a city and the only city with an airport large enough for commercial aircraft. Barrowton had a small one for bush planes and small private jets and some lords had hangars on their properties but the Starks never felt the need for such luxuries. Whenever they needed to fly somewhere, Northern companies were more than happy to let the Starks borrow their planes. 

They were never ones to flaunt their money, mostly to appear relatable to their citizens. The North was a poor country. What would it look like if half the people were starving in winter but the royal family had a private jet? According to Ned, it would look tacky and selfish. Lord Manderly on the other hand, owned three and his fleet of yachts was rivaled only by the Redwynes of the Reach. The southern lords were world-renowned for their collection of aquatic vehicles.

But the Royal Starks weren’t saints, they had their weak spots. Specifically, fancy cars that weren’t built to drive the speed limit. Those extravagant purchases were only on the occasion of an important birthday. Arya and Bran were the last ones to receive their tricked out vehicles and they were still waiting for their first race with their siblings.

The King’s Landing airport was huge and flashes of cameras greeted them on the tarmac. A far cry from the welcomes they received at home. In the North, the tabloids weren’t interested in the Starks. And the Starks worked hard to keep it that way. They were the people in charge, not subjects of obsession. If the publishers wanted an attention-grabbing headline, they usually focused on sightings of the occult.

A few high ranking officials greeted them with the customary bows and handshakes before they were tucked away into a line of black cars by men in white and gold dress uniforms, stern faces and straight posture.

The capital city of the United Kingdoms of Westeros was much larger than Jon anticipated. At least from his vantage point on the ground, looking up at the sprawling grid of high rises, surrounded by cars and people all rushing to get someplace. White Harbor was terribly dated compared to the city around them, the definition of modernity and industrialization. 

Sansa gazed out the window, giddy as a young girl on her name day. She chattered endlessly about the sights they passed and what influencer post she’d seen them in. Robb and Jon were significantly less enthused but quietly impressed. It was still too grey and reflective for Jon to feel at ease. The large buildings seemed to mock them with their flat, towering faces. _This is what happened when your ancestor was too stubborn to bend the knee_ , they taunt, _the world moved on and left you in the past_.

Curious pedestrians looked at their cars as they passed as if their eyes could see through the dark tint. Jon couldn’t shake the feeling they were animals in a zoo. Wild northerners out of their native habitat.

The buildings got shorter the closer they got to the old city, color speckling the walls. It felt like a different city entirely. Brick and tawny stone replaced the metal and concrete, balconies and shingled roofs dotted with the hallmarks of life. Crumbling facades curving around three hills, cowering in the shadow of the maintained structures above. The road narrowed, just wide enough to allow their vehicles through but plagued with potholes. Despite the burst of personality, Jon’s apprehension refused to lessen.

“This place isn’t anything more than a tourist trap now,” Sansa remarked.

“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Robb sunk back against the seat, eyes still glued to the Old City. 

“They remind me of White Harbor,” Jon commented.

The one massive difference between White Harbor and the Old City lay ahead of them. The mood in the car shifted when the gates of the Red Palace came into view.

They were impressive. A high wall of red brick interrupted by an iron gate flanked by two silver dragons with widespread wings. As the cars drove around the courtyard they got a view of the large fountain. Three dragons spouting water from their jaws instead of fire. If the fountain was meant to convey the greatness of the Targaryens, it failed, as the absence of fire made it underwhelming. 

But the fountain didn’t need to be menacing. The facade of the palace rose above them, intimidating in red marble. Hundreds of windows and dragon-shaped gargoyles leered from their stations. It was as if Jon stepped through the gate to another dimension, welcomed by a structure with dominance disguised as opulence. Winterfell was imposing through its stoic grey stone, it was meant to stand the test of time and cold winters, not impress anyone.

If the front of the palace was breathtaking, the entrance hall was even greater. The high ceilings painted like the sky with dragons resting on clouds and flying between them, Targaryens atop their winged backs. A chandelier descended from the false sky, the clear crystal sparkled in the natural light from the high windows. At the back of the room stood a large staircase of red marble, just like the floor. The walls hosted large paintings in front of the intricate blood-red wallpaper, interspersed with busts of important figures. From the picture frames to the delicate filigree moulding along the edges of the room, everything was accented in silver.

It was overbearing, to say the least, and suffocated its guests in the gaudiness. The unease Jon felt earlier mingled with the awe and trepidation to create a feeling Jon interpreted as the urge to run. As though he were waltzing into some elaborate, decorative trap and his instincts knew it but he willfully ignored them. 

“That’s not how I imagined Rheagar looking,” Sansa whispered.

Jon remembered the pictures of the Targaryen king he saw, the man approaching them was not the one they expected. He was short and sharply dressed, the only light color in his dark, cropped hair was the tell-tale grey of age or stress. Or both.

“Welcome, your graces, to the Red Palace. His Majesty apologizes for his absence, he had important matters to attend to but he looks forward to meeting you at the gala tonight. I’m Petyr Baelish, Palace Coordinator.”

“We understand. Rheagar is a very busy man. Tell him-”

“No need, I’m right here.” 

Descending the staircase was a thin, tall man with silver hair, his posture erect. That man was a king. He had a charming smile and moved as though the weight of a crown graced his head, though there wasn’t one there.

“My apologies again, Your Majesty, some matters can’t be handed off to an eager assistant.”

“I understand entirely.”

“I trust your journey was well?”

“It was, thank you,” Ned smiled, “This is Jon, my eldest.”

Rhaegar turned to Jon, “Your father tells me you spent time in the armed forces.”

“I was stationed at Castle Black for four years with the Night’s Watch.”

“Good,” he affirmed, “Military service makes for good kings. I was stationed in the Stepstones for a time. That was an experience I’ll never forget.”

“My next eldest, Robb.”

“And you’ve just graduated from University?”

It was strange. The way Rhaegar spoke to them as though he’d known them for years even though they’d never met before. There was no etiquette or formality. Jon tried to catch Sansa’s eyes to see if they were picking up the same feeling but she was too focused on Rhaegar. 

When he was done with Robb, he complimented Sansa on her grace and beauty, as everyone did. 

“A pleasure to meet you all. I would have more people to introduce but it appears they’re all too busy preparing for the gala tonight. Baelish, would you please show our guests to their rooms, I’d like a moment to talk alone with Ned.”

Rhaegar gave a knowing look to the Northern King before Baelish ushered them out of the hall. 

“Did you get the feeling there’s something else going on here?” Jon whispered as they trailed behind the palace coordinator.

“They weren’t even trying to hide it,” Robb agreed. 

The assistant showed them the guest rooms, which were just as decorated and saturated as the entrance hall. Jon got lucky with the room he was assigned.

It was much quieter with simple white marble instead of red and significantly less decor. He set himself to work unpacking the three-piece suit required for that night’s gala and trying to not get distracted by everything around him. He shouldn’t feel such dread, this was a simple evening representing his country, like he was meant to do. The hour before such events were usually occupied by nagging thoughts about the odd dual-status Jon inhabited.

On paper, he was His Royal Highness Jon Stark, Crowned Prince of the North. His proper rank and position in the line of succession are undeniable and clear. But in the minds of society folk he was a stain, a bloodied mark that no amount of bureaucratic scrubbing could get rid of. A bastard was a bastard but what more did he have to do to prove himself?

“I’ve never seen so much _stuff_ ,” Robb said, strolling through the door connecting their rooms. 

“They’ve been here forever,” Jon threw back with disinterest.

“We’ve been in Winterfell for centuries and we don’t have half as much.”

“You obviously haven’t been to the first keep recently,” Sansa entered and lowered herself onto the plush bed, putting her feet up in the air.

“They have a marble bust of every ancestor. Isn’t that overkill?” Robb asked.

“We have a marble bust of every ancestor too. We just keep ours in the crypts,” Jon remarked.

“By the way, Jon, dad wants to talk to you.”

Sansa rolled onto her stomach to look at her older brother. As if he knew what was going on.

“About what?”

“He wouldn’t tell me so it must be really important.”

Jon sighed and abandoned his suitcase, heading off to find his father.

The study of the guest apartments was another overdone room with green and gold walls and marble floors. There was even a mural of a luscious orchard set between rolling green hills with a far off castle. Ned sat behind the imposing mahogany desk, a manilla folder in his hand.

“Please close the door and sit down.”

Jon did as told and awaited his father’s words, resisting the urge to fidget like a child before a scolding.

“Is there anyone special in your life right now?” 

Jon chuckled, “No.”

“Well what about that girl who works at the Smoking Log, Ygritte? What about her?”

“There’s nothing there.” 

Maybe once, when they were eager teens who spent a lot of time around each other, but not anymore. Jon was sure she wasn’t crown sanctioned and approved. Being the daughter of a local diplomat put her on the list (at a very low position) but she still had no real title and her current job was a strike against her.

“What does my romantic life have to do with this meeting?”

“Do you remember why we’re here?”

“You said the charity tonight is an environmental conservation we support,” Jon said, unable to take his eyes off the folder.

“Yes, but that’s not the only reason we’ve come. A couple of months ago I received a report from Maester Kennet that crop yields for this year are significantly low compared to last year. He also included in his report, a prediction by the weather service that this winter will be the longest and harshest we’ve endured in the past hundred years.”

“We’ll have enough for ourselves and Wintertown. Surely the other great lords can figure something out.”

“The great lords are already asking for more supplies and it’s only the middle of summer,”

“What can we do?”

“Patience, Jon. Let me finish.”

Jon sat back in his chair, eyeing his father.

“I reached out to Rhaegar to see if we could reach a trade agreement. Something that would allow us to import food from the Reach but still recognize our sovereignty. And he agreed. A week later he contacted me and told me that the Senate refused to send us aid without us joining their union. They claimed the original treaty was so well thought out that there weren’t any loopholes.”

Jon wanted to speak up but he remembered that he had to be patient. He was not a politician and this was a political game.

“But there is one exception.”

Ned placed the folder he was toying with in front of Jon. He opened it carefully. An official portrait of a young woman with white-blonde hair and violet eyes. _Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady of Dragonstone_. The look in her eyes and hint of a smile on her face reminded Jon of the famous painting of a Braavosi Lady, haunting and mysterious.

He looked at his father in question.

“A fail-safe in case of a dire emergency. Association by marriage. If an important royal family member is linked to our country they will send aid. Marriage is the only way to do that.”

“What?”

“Since we are in desperate need of support, Rhaegar offered the marriage contract between you and the Princess without hesitation.”

The words set in, realization igniting the kindling of unrest in his chest. The resulting flames stealing the air from his lungs.

“This is … archaic!”

A red flash of violence streaked across the forefront of his mind. He flexed his hands to quell the need to lash out. Losing his head would get him nowhere.

“It’s old-fashioned, sure, but it’s necessary.” 

“It can’t be,” Jon protested.

“I know it’s shocking-”

“That’s one way to put it,” Jon huffed as he turned over her photo to look at the rest of the dossier. 

There were a few other words Jon could think to use in that situation. Earth-shattering and heartstopping, to name a couple.

The report listed all of her charity work, schooling, and family. Jon remembered Sansa talking about a gossip column from one of the tabloids she liked to read. That tidbit was strangely absent from the information. No doubt the Red Palace wanted to smooth over the rough parts of their princess.

“What about Robb?”

“I suggested your brother first. He’s certainly the better choice, politically. Their union wouldn’t cause a fuss since she’s not inheriting the whole kingdom. But Rheagar insisted that it be you.”

“They’ll never accept her,” Jon stated.

“They don’t have to. She’s the key to our survival and she gets a say in the treaty. Tonight, your job is to impress her, get on her good side and convince her that we are worth the sacrifice.”

“And if I can’t?”

Jon had to be honest with himself, he was not a “lady’s man”. He preferred to fly under the radar and keep his interactions with any woman cordial. That didn’t stop royal fan girls from propping up signs with marriage offers. But showy romanticism had never been Jon’s forte, that was Robb’s department. 

“You don’t have to sweep her off her feet like Prince Charming. Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon for people of our status, if you make her feel comfortable and understood we shouldn’t have a problem.”

“I can try,” he promised.

“That’s my boy.”

Taking another look at the princess’ portrait, he ran his hand over her title printed at the bottom of the page. When he was younger, and still a bastard, he dreamed of proving himself to his father and gaining a title and lands. When he was legitimized he thought the need to prove himself would go away but there he was, with another test to face. And Jon knew he was going to do everything in his power to pass it. 

* * *

“You can’t be serious! We can’t have a southern queen!”

“We know Sansa. The situation isn’t ideal but it’s what dad thinks is best.”

“Did he tell you about her scandals? She’s been spotted with dozens of different men, not to mention her nipple was all over the internet! The council will have a field day with her.” Sansa paced back and forth, the train of her dark green dress swishing.

“Our own people will mock us,” Robb objected.

“You act like I have a choice in the matter!”

Jon ran his hand through his messy curls, disrupting the gel that held them back.

“We’re not saying that,” Sansa assured him, reaching out to fix his hair.

“It’s upsetting.”

Robb stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his suit jacket. He picked up the folder with the Princess’ information in it.

“She is beautiful,” he mused.

“Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s … calculated.” Sansa smoothed out the shoulders of Jon’s jacket.

“Calculated?” Jon inquired.

“When she wants something, she’ll do anything and everything she can to get it. That’s what the Dothraki _Khal_ said about her in an all-access interview.”

“A _Khal_? Oh, you’ve got competition buddy,” laughed Robb. 

“I doubt measuring up to a horselord is the thing to worry about. The Maester claims that if we don’t get aid we won’t survive. And we all know the Boltons are looking for a crack in our armor.”

“And marrying a Southerner is supposed to strengthen that armor?”

“It’s better than letting our people die.”

“What about the Kingdoms in Essos? Couldn’t we arrange trade deals with them?” Robb interjected.

“Not without paying them. And our economic situation isn’t in the best place either.”

“The last thing we need is to be indebted to other countries.”

Sansa pushed Robb out of the way so she could fix the gold butterfly pins in her hair. She’d forgone the tiara, wearing her hair down. She always thought she was too young to wear her hair in the complicated updos favored by the older ladies. 

“So, what’s our plan?”

“Our what?”

“Our plan,” she enunciated, “We need to secure this alliance for our people and, let’s face it, Jon’s conversational abilities are subpar.”

“Hey!” 

She gave Jon a sympathetic look. 

“We’ve got to win over the princess.”

Dealing with the soul-crushing weight of his future marriage would have to wait. There was only one mission for the night, to impress the princess.

 _This whole thing wouldn’t matter if you blew it tonight_. The errant thought danced across his mind and Jon took no joy in the fact that he even considered it. If he slipped up in the slightest, his people wouldn’t get aid. And they wouldn’t survive the winter.

“Sansa, what was that tabloid picture you mentioned earlier?” Jon questioned.

Her phone was in her hand before he finished his sentence. 

“The tabloid issued a statement that the photo was doctored and offered an official apology to the princess. They also took the photo down, but not before I could screenshot it.”

She held her phone out to Jon, the article in question displayed. He read the caption and a name stood out. 

“Who’s Daario Naharis?”

“Tyroshi tech millionaire.”

“A millionaire _and_ Dothraki horse lord? Jon doesn’t stand a chance,” Robb laughed.

“Well, he has one thing they don’t.”

“And what’s that?” He handed her phone back.

He wished this evening long roast by his siblings would end.

“You’re going to be a King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed! Leave a comment if you feel compelled.


	6. the damsels are depressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany receives life-changing news and doesn't take it well

* * *

The hairdresser lowered the silver tiara on top of Dany’s silk curls. Most of the tiaras in the Targaryen collection were intricate floral patterns dotted with diamonds but Dany’s was special.

Her tiara was geometric. A band of silver with a large pear-shaped diamond set into it, surrounded by hundreds of smaller ones from the mines of Valyria. The pressure from the cataclysmic collapse of the Targaryen homeland a millennia ago created the most beautiful diamonds on the planet. The Targaryen royalty made it tradition to have the gems in all of their crown jewels. Dany was no exception. 

It was the opposite of all things a princess was supposed to be. Angular, intimidating, and cold. A piece Dany considered crucial in completing her outward persona. The tiara was commissioned for her sixteenth nameday, her official debut into society. The gala she planned for it was a testament to her excellent taste. If she was going to be trapped in a never-ending show of etiquette, she might as well make a statement. All the best people, dressed in the best designers, and dancing to moody music in low lighting. 

The Annual Charity Gala was nothing like that. It was outdated courtiers dressed in antiquated fashion with nothing better to do than gossip about each other. All milling around under harsh lights and awaiting Rhaegar’s speech, indulging themselves in the expensive alcohol. 

She jutted her chin and pouted her lower lip, checking her lipstick in the giant mirror before her. It was in poor taste to wear a red lip with a red dress, she knew, but she couldn’t resist, especially with the honored guests they were receiving. She needed a power move to show that even after her slight, she still demanded respect. Even from stuffy Northerners.

Missandei entered the boudoir dressed in one of Elia’s old gowns the seamstress did quick alterations on. Yellow, off-the-shoulder, the train of the dress extending from under her shoulders. Her curls framed her face, highlighting her gorgeous complexion. All of Dany’s old gowns were in soft, pastel hues and could never do Missy justice.

“You look stunning!” Dany cheered, wrapping her friend in another hug. 

“Thank you. Elia has good taste.”

“It’s too bad we can’t put you in a tiara.”

Tiaras were for royalty only and they were only worn at evening functions or important state events. Like important speeches, coronations, and weddings. To put Missandei in even a small one would cause the poor old patrons of the court to keel over where they stood.

The two girls laughed. Elia knocked at the door, stepping in cautiously when Dany called to her. 

She was wearing a pale sunset orange gown, the frothy chiffon embroidered with the stylized sun and spear of House Martell. A tiara composed of the same golden suns was nestled in her long curls. She glittered like some Rhoynish goddess. 

“You two look beautiful,” she complimented, reaching up to adjust Dany’s tiara.

Elia looked at her with soft eyes, resting her hands on Dany’s bare shoulders.

“Thank you,” Dany smiled

“Rheagar wants to speak with you.”

“Now? But the gala’s-”

“He’s in his office. It’s very important so, please, don’t keep him waiting.”

Dany gave a sorry look to Missandei, “Duty calls.”

“I’ll keep our lovely guest company until you get back,” Elia promised.

She traveled down the hall, the lavish rug muffling the click of her heels. Dany’s apartments were on the north end of the palace, with Rhaenys’ rooms and the main guest rooms. Because Dany was still living in King’s Landing at the time of Aegon’s birth, his rooms were prepared at the south end of the complex; closer to Elia and Rhaegar’s apartments. She was surprised when she returned home and they hadn’t moved her to the family guest suites on the opposite side of the palace. 

The long hallway to Rheagar’s study had a wall of windows on one side and mirrors on the other. The interior designers wanted the unusually small walkway to feel as wide and grand as the others. 

She watched her reflection as she passed. A dangerous and proud woman ready to face the world. Ready to face her brother. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, lifting her chin for good measure. 

The impressive door was open but she made sure to close it when she entered. From the way he didn’t look up from the papers on his desk, Dany knew he wasn’t excited about having her home.

“Dany, thank you for coming. It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.”

She spotted the tray of liquor on a table and made her way over. She needed to be a little buzzed before the party started and Rheagar kept the best scotch in his office for his important guests.  
 _Well, I am nothing if not important_ , she reminded herself with a pleased smile.

“How was Braavos?”

“Wonderful,” she deadpanned, pouring herself a glass of the potent alcohol. 

“Would you like water, Dany?”

The jab at her recent liquor fueled exploits didn’t go unnoticed.

“No, I much prefer a good glass of scotch. They don’t have this fine stuff in Braavos. Although, they do have a strong liquor from Lorath called vodka. It’s knocked me off my ass quite a few times.”

“I didn’t ask you here to talk about your drinking habits while abroad.” 

“Then why did you ask me here?”

Dany lowered herself into the wingback chair in front of his impressive desk. The same desk Dany hid under during games of hide and seek with Viserys. Rhaegar never played with them, he was always too busy with lessons.

It was strange how much Rhaegar looked like their father, poised behind the antique piece. He had silver hair like all of the Targaryens but his violet eyes were much darker.

“Galazza Galare contacted Baelish earlier today and told him that your little _slip up_ was the work of photoshop. You got lucky this time but it’s not likely to change people’s minds.”

Dany couldn’t celebrate the news of her accident being manufactured. Not with Rhaegar staring her down. If anything, she held her breath in anticipation of what he would berate her for next.

“There’s still the fact that you were hanging on this… Daario Naharis. Do you have any idea what people will say?”

“You don’t have to worry about Daario. He’s just a fling. Nothing like the last time.”

“Dany, we can’t have you acting like this. The public will assume you’ve gone down the same path as Viserys. You had your freedom but it’s time to reign it in.”

Being compared to Viserys hurt and the tone of Rhaegar’s voice reinforced the image of their father. She’d never been the victim of one of his lectures on reputation but Rhaegar was subjected to them all the time. The need to protect the Targaryen name was ingrained in his brain like a bad tattoo. 

“I think you’re forgetting that I spent my time between semesters in Slaver’s Bay helping with the human trafficking crsis.”

“No, I didn’t forget that, but the negative aspects of your personality have taken the spotlight over all of your good deeds.”

Dany considered for a minute with a long drink. Other people said scotch burned on its way down but Dany only felt a tickle. Targaryen’s knew how to hold their alcohol. The last drop slid from the glass and into her mouth. She set the cut crystal down with an indignant sound and traced her finger around the edge.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Dany,” Rhaegar sighed.

“You called me home for a reason and it’s bigger than my reputation. So, spill it.”

Rheagar opened a desk drawer and pulled out an official-looking manilla folder with the state seal printed on the front. It was a variation of the old Targaryen sigil. A single dragon with three heads, each representing a branch of the state intelligence agency, and a set of scales and a longsword grasped in its talons.

“A couple of months ago we received a message from King Eddard Stark of the North. He seeks an alliance.”

“An alliance?”

“Yes. He said the North suffered a low harvest and needs men to man the Wall before winter comes.”

Dany raised an eyebrow at him. Rhaegar was never good at getting to the point, a habit he learned from their father. Dance around the subject until your opponent is dizzy, use their confusion to your advantage. Strike while they’re down. He met her eyes and cleared his throat.

“I see this as a way to finally secure the North and eliminate the threat of war.”

“Okay…”

“So I offered him a marriage contract between our house and his.”

Dany’s hand tightened around her glass, dreading the next words out of Rhaegar’s mouth.   
“Between you and his heir.”

The expensive glass hurtled at his head. Rhaegar ducked in time but the cut crystal shattered against the ornate marble mantle behind him. She couldn’t stop herself. Part of the reason she always got into so much trouble was that she didn’t know when to stop.

“And you didn’t think to talk to me about it first,” she yelled.

There was no doubt her voice carried through the halls. She wasn’t known for holding her tongue and always vocalizing her distaste. The palace staff was used to her outbursts.

“Dany, please, sit down-  
“No! You can’t expect me to go through with this!” Dany paced, her fitted gown suddenly constricting. 

Rheagar sighed and rubbed his temples, “I expect you to do what is right and put your family before yourself. When Aegon conquered Westeros he didn’t do it because of a silly whim, he did it to save his family. The same family that you and I are now tasked with preserving.”

“The Northmen pose no threat to us. And even if they did, we outnumber their forces.”

“I’m afraid they might be a greater concern than we originally thought.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The North is sparsely populated, which makes filling the ranks hard, but one of the great houses have been steadily building up their forces for some time. If the situation is as dire as King Eddard claims, we could expect him to utilize these forces to attack our borders for resources.”

“I will not be your pawn.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that there are some things bigger than you!” he slammed his palms on the desk. “Monarchy is dying, Daenerys. Every day more people turn against us and you make it worse by acting like a common whore. Do you know what they say about us?”

For once in her life she was too stunned to speak. Rhaegar never lashed out like this. But she wouldn’t let him get to her. 

“Oh, let me guess! Those Targaryens are an outdated, a symbol of the old world! We’d be better off without them. And that Daenerys, she’s the worst of all, the filthy whore,” Dany spat.

She was in Rhaegar’s face, leaning over the desk. The tears burned and her throat was tight. _Daenerys Targaryen does_ not _cry_ , she assured herself as she inhaled a shaking breath. Her hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into her palms. She needed to punch something or someone, she needed to run. 

“This isn’t a foreign policy matter. It’s punishment for my behavior. Do you honestly think selling me off to a foreign country is going to silence the rumors about me? 

Rhaegar’s eyes softened with the realization of what he’d implied and he sunk into his chair.

“I don’t expect you to understand the delicacy of this situation but you need to acknowledge that you are a member of House Targaryen. The same regal house that has ruled over these kingdoms for hundreds of years. We do not let our personal feelings get in the way of duty.”

“That is so-”

“Like it or not, you belong to the Crown and when it calls, you answer.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“I wouldn’t advise that.”

“Why not?”

He took a deep breath, clasped his hands, and looked her dead in the eyes, “I’ll disown you.”

She laughed, a harsh sound reserved only for the most ridiculous situations, but the stoic look on her brother’s face said it all.

“Oh, you’re serious. You’re going to disown me because I want to be viewed as a human being instead of a political bargaining chip?”

“It’s not an easy decision but if that’s what it takes.”

She clenched her jaw. 

Rheagar held the folder out. Dany scowled at her brother as she snatched it and retreated from his extravagant office in a huff, her red dress following in a dramatic flare of satin. The tight fit restrained her from running down the hall but Dany moved a brisk pace all the same, the usually soft fabric biting into her with friction. Her reflection marched alongside her, a frightening spectre.

He never apologized. Never. ‘It’s not a King’s job to apologize’, their father would say.

She found Elia and Missy in her boudoir, giggling over something on a phone. When she entered they glanced up, sensing her urgent furious mood.

“Did you know about this?” Dany demanded of Elia.

Elia’s dark brows furrowed in confusion.

“Did you know that Rhaegar sold me off for some alliance we don’t need?”

Elia sighed, “He asked me not to tell you. He knew you would react like this.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” Missy questioned from the ottoman.

“I’m engaged.” Dany’s voice was empty of the joy and excitement usually expressed with the statement.

“Excuse me? You’re getting married and you didn’t tell me.”

“As the bride, I only found out _minutes_ ago.”

Missandei balked, Dany’s same reaction. The tension in her limbs was back and the familiar urge to hit something burned in her. She resorted to reliable pacing, kicking the tulle swell away from her feet.

“Political business, I’m afraid,” Elia confirmed.

Dany handed the dossier to Missy, watching her face as she laid eyes on the official portrait of Prince Jon.

“Oh, he’s hot!”

Elia hummed in agreement, “He’s the Heir to the North. His country seeks an alliance with the United Kingdoms of Westeros. And he _is_ handsome, you could do a lot worse.”

“So your brother arranged a marriage contract without your consent?”

“Yes and I will not be going through with it.” Dany took the file back so she wouldn’t have to hear any more about her fiance’s looks. 

Her _fiance_. The word brought a nauseous wave over her, twisting her stomach and scalding her throat. No, he wasn't her fiance, he wasn’t even a suitor. He was a minor inconvenience she needed to weed out.

She flipped through the pages of information unceremoniously before taking the official portrait from the paper clip and tossing the rest onto her bed. Elia reclaimed the papers.

“Three brothers, two sisters. He’s served in the military and was very successful in school,” she recited.

“And he’s hot,” Missy singsonged.

“He’s a legitimized bastard.” Elia pointed to the specific line.

Dany looked up from the photo, “That’s hardly appropriate. I’m the Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros! I can’t marry a bastard, even a legitimized one.”

“He’s going to be a King,” Elia stressed, “Give the guy a chance.”

“I’ve spent six years in Slaver’s Bay making change, real change. And not by holding fancy galas and bullshit fundraisers but by getting my hands dirty. If I marry him, all of that goes away. I can’t go where I want, when I want…”

“Dany,” Missy spoke, “I agree with Elia, um- Her Majesty. You did all of that work, but only as a Princess. If you were a queen, you could do so much more. I’m sure they’d let you go to Slaver’s Bay and do your work.”

“But I’ll have so much security, my work would hardly be impactful. And I don’t know anything about their customs. I’ll just embarrass myself-”

“So? You’ll learn. You’re forgetting that Rhaegar and I’s marriage was arranged. I survived and you will too.”

“Not if I have anything to do about it!”

“Like it or not, this is life as a member of the royal family. You could abdicate but you know Rhaegar would never allow it and nobody likes a disgraced royal.”

Dany glanced back at the photo, still clutched in her terrifyingly tight grasp. She relaxed her hand. Even with the crinkles in the photo she could see what Elia and Missy saw. She wasn’t blind. In his military uniform he looked dignified and strong. He looked worthy of a woman like Dany.

Unfortunately, looks didn’t determine a successful marriage. She would need to get him alone to determine if he was really worth the risk. 

“What do you think, Dany?” Missy prompted.

It wasn’t in her to relent but she needed a little time without Elia’s counterarguments to think of an escape. “Fine. I’ll give him a chance, but I’m expecting your help.”

Elia gave her a smile.

“What do we need to do?” Missy asked, excitement and mischief in her voice.

“Be my agents. Talk to him, gather more information, report back to me. I’ll make my move when I feel it’s right.”

An assistant poked their head into the room and reminded them that they needed to get into place for the gala. Missy had to leave with the assistant to go through the secret side entrance since she wasn’t an aristocrat. 

Elia and Dany found Rhaegar waiting for them, checking his watch. When he smiled at them, Dany could only scowl back. 

“It’s about time you two showed up.” he planted a kiss on Elia’s cheek. 

He placed his hands firmly on Dany’s bare shoulders, “Please, remember to smile.”

She shoved his hands off and he sighed, accepting that he would get no positive responses. 

Elia swooped her into a tight hug and whispered, “I’m so proud of you, no matter what.”

When she pulled back she had the mom look on her face. The same one she gave Dany when she got into university or when Rhaenys and Aegon reached any one of the milestones of childhood. Dany’s heart sank a little. Elia’s praise was the one thing she’d sought after her whole adolescence, every instance of it a shining moment in her memory. It felt wrong to have lied to get it. 

The huge gilded doors opened, Rhaegar and Elia entered to monstrous applause, as was the expectation. But when Dany entered, she faced dead silence. Despite the number of people in the Grand Hall, the whispers echoed. _And that Daenerys, she’s the worst of all of them, the filthy whore_ , she couldn’t stop the thought from coming back. Shaking it off, Dany reminded herself who she was. She was the blood of the dragon, dragons do not care about the opinions of sheep. She didn’t need their approval. They were all jealous and petty.

Dany paused at the top of the stairs to survey the court. She spotted the newcomers immediately, situated in the furthest corner by a window. Her eyes caught on the eldest daughter’s hair before she saw the eldest brother and finally, the man who would be her fiance.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized he was a real person. And the situation she was so sure she could get herself out of, felt even more impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gives me big "Bella finds out Jacob imprinted on Renesmee" vibes for some reason. 
> 
> Yes, I read Twilight as a tween. 
> 
> No, I don't regret it. I learned a lot about how not to write a book.


	7. i'll try to talk refined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a hard time getting through to his new 'fiancee'

* * *

There wasn’t a formal dinner before the gala started. Baelish claimed that there were too many people to host in the grand dining room, which Jon doubted was true. Baelish also told them they were welcome to dine with the Royal Family but the Starks opted to be served in the little dining room in their guest apartments. 

The whole process was unbearable. Sansa tried to get the conversation flowing but despite her natural talents no one wanted to talk about the events of the day, Jon least of all. 

Their dinner was another show of wealth and pride. As the server put it, “Leg of lamb sauced with mint, honey, and cloves. Mashed yellow turnips in butter, greens dressed with apples and pine nuts, and honeyed wine with cinnamon and nutmeg on the side for choice seasoning.”

He stared at his portion of the lamb, Sansa’s voice a mere hum in the background. He had no appetite but he needed to eat. He planned on having a drink in his hand for most of the night and even nursing on an empty stomach was pushing it. 

Too soon, their private dinner was carried away and they were swept to an enormous hall done up in gold and warm light meant to resemble thousands of candles. There were already hundreds of people and Jon doubted there was a limit to how many people they would pack in there.

It was uncomfortably warm, the summer heat and humidity mixing with the mass of bodies. They preferred old fashioned feasts in the North, held in the ancient great hall with low lighting. On those occasions, hundreds of people were welcome because they helped keep the hall warm. Now the same number of bodies was making him claustrophobic.

Jon and Robb stayed close to their father, observing the party from afar. Sansa, however, threw herself into the action. And the people loved her. 

“Why can’t you two be that sociable?” Ned pestered.

“We’re not here to make friends,” Robb bristled.

Jon stayed silent and sipped his drink. He was ordered to stay away from alcohol for the night. It was a shame but for the best. Robb on the other hand was playing it fast and loose with the champagne.

A loud sound brought their attention to the other end of the hall where a large staircase loomed over them all. Sansa returned to her father’s side in anticipation.

“Their Majesties, King Rhaegar I of House Targaryen and Queen Elia of House Martell of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, Prince and Princess of Dorne, Duke and Duchess of the Crownlands and Lord and Lady of King’s Landing and the Watergardens.”

Jon held in his scoff at their excessive titles. It seemed like another subtle way of establishing their power and influence over the people in their midst. The King and Queen entered the room, descending the stairs and basking in the applause of their guests.

“Her Highness, Daenerys Stormborn the First of House Targaryen, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady of Dragonstone.”

Like a vision, she appeared at the top of the stairs. There was no applause for her, only whispers. 

The other guests were dressed in muted colors and tasteful cuts, keeping the possibility for a scandal to a minimum. Daenerys seemed to like ruffling feathers. Her bold gown bared her shoulders and much of her chest, it clung to her curves and highlighted every move she made. He always thought red was a warm color but on her it was utterly cold, enhanced by the silvery jewels adorning her body.

Her eyes raked over the crowd before settling on the corner where the Starks were. 

Her descent took a lifetime and no one looked away. Never once did she look down or second guess a step. She was calm and graceful. Even when she stepped onto the floor of the hall and was swallowed by courtiers, he could feel her presence.

Robb nudged Jon’s shoulder, shaking him from his reverie.

“She’s going to eat you alive,” Robb jested.

“Oh, ye of so little faith.”

“Don’t kid yourself,”

It was true, Jon had no luck with women. Talking to them seemed so easy until it was time to open his mouth. Then there was the fact that most women he found himself with weren’t what the crown would consider ‘proper’. Jon’s responsibility to keep his, and by default, the crown’s reputation clean won out over his inherently male nature. Ned’s insistence on legitimization meant Jon had much higher expectations to meet. So it was easier to avoid conversation with women whenever possible.

Sansa elbowed him in the ribs, “Now's your chance.”

The courtiers were done with her and she was surveying the table with photos of that year's charity with a girl in a yellow dress. As he approached the pair, Daenerys looked up and briskly walked away. He meant to follow her but the girl in the yellow dress stepped in his way.

“Your Royal Highness, it’s such an honor to meet you,” she greeted.

Jon looked over her shoulder and watched the silver hair disappear into another crowd.

“It’s an honor to meet you too …”

He had never seen this girl in his life but it appeared she had a connection with the princess.

“Missandei. I’m Princess Daenerys’ best friend.” She stuck her hand out for him to shake. 

There it was. 

Jon shook it and chuckled, “I see.”

It was refreshing to just shake someone’s hand instead of the usual bowing and scraping.

“Is this your first time in the south?”

“It is.”

“Do you like it?”

Her question felt like a trap. She may not have been educated in the ways of the court but she had to know about Daenerys’ engagement. They were best friends.

“I haven’t seen much of it but it’s different from the North that’s for sure.”

“It’s my first time in Westeros too. I’m not sure how I feel about it. As you said, it’s very different.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Naath.”

“Then how did you meet the Princess?”

“University in Braavos. I think I was the only person who dared to speak to her. Everyone was terrified,” Missandei divulged.

“I can see why,” he agreed, taking a drink from his glass.

The look he received from the foreign woman was enough to make him wish he was invisible. He cleared his throat, aware of how hot his cheeks were. Missandei only laughed and Jon let out a nervous chuckle.

“It’s okay. Everyone thinks that when they first meet her.”

She lowered her voice and gave him a serious look, “Just don’t get on her bad side, it won’t end well for you.”

“I couldn’t imagine myself wanting to,” he answered.

The smirk on Missandei’s face worried Jon.

“Did you go to university?”

“No. I entered the military.”

“Right. Well, if you did go, what would you have majored in?”

“Something political, I’m sure.”

He gave her the answer he thought she wanted. That was how politics worked after all, you told people what they wanted to hear. But Jon wasn’t a politician.

“Actually, when I was younger, I wanted to be a veterinarian. My dad had this massive dog and I loved him. My father’s lords joked that the dog was more loyal to me than him.”

“Then why the military?”

Missandei wasn’t an ordinary member of the court, just a visitor. She seemed like a modern woman who was tired of the gossip and passive-aggressiveness. 

“The title ‘bastard’ doesn’t go away just because some papers were signed. If I went to university, the Northmen would see me as a waste of their taxpaying dollars. So I went into the military. I spent four years protecting my people so they wouldn’t see me as the bastard who got lucky.”

She didn’t respond. Maybe he’d overstepped and shared too much. He couldn’t have these kinds of conversations with people at court. And Missandei was easy to talk to. 

“That was probably an overshare,” he chuckled, taking a swig of his drink.

“No, it was actually really refreshing. I’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours and everyone is so formal. Nothing goes deeper than the surface. It was nice to hear someone be real for once.”

The smile on her face was genuine, Jon could tell that much. And he felt the corners of his mouth tug up too.

“If you spent four years on active duty, then you’ve been off for two. Why’s that?”

“That’s classified,”

It wasn’t true, of course, but Jon found that when faced with questions that were far too personal, employing the common saying was easier than getting too personal. There was a reason he was sent home but Jon wasn’t fond of talking about it. 

Missandei laughed again but her charming smile puttered out when she saw the serious look on Jon’s face, “Oh, you were serious?”

He offered her another grin before taking another sip from his nearly empty glass.

They talked a little while longer about random subjects. Missandei talked about her home in Naath and Jon about the North. 

“I should probably go find where Her Highness has wandered off to.”

“I can come with you,” Jon offered, wanting to meet the mysterious dragon princess for himself.

“No need. It was a pleasure to meet you though.”

And with that, Missandei and her soft yellow gown weaved back into the sweltering crowd. Jon let out a sigh of relief.

He leaned against the wall and studied the bottom of his glass. Maybe it was time for a real drink. Something light that he could nurse for a while and not get into trouble with. Another survey of the crowd revealed Daenerys talking with Missandei near a statue of some political figure.

It didn’t take long for Sansa to make her way over and feign interest in the displayed photos. 

“Who were you talking to?”

“The Princess’ best friend.”

“I hope you didn’t embarrass yourself.”

Jon left his wall to stand beside her and pretend to look at the photos as well.

“I don’t think I did. I tried to talk to Daenerys but she ran away when she saw me.”

“If I found out I was engaged to someone I’d never met, I’d bolt too.”

Jon sighed, “What’ve you figured out from the floor?”

“Every distinguished lady here thinks she’s fast and loose. Burning through heirs and millionaire’s sons faster than they can make them. They’re surprised she returned home after _that_ picture went around.”

“Missandei said that people were terrified of her in university.”

“This doesn’t look good for us. The Northmen will never accept someone who causes such a scandal. We can’t afford to look bad on the world stage especially with our economy failing.”

“Not to mention the Boltons,” Robb stated as he arrived at Jon’s side, “Father says they’ve been getting testy, more vocal against our policies. I can’t wait to see what they have to say about this.”

“This is the 21st century, they couldn’t stage a coup if they wanted to. There are too many safeguards.”

“Nothing is safe from men who crave power.”

His father said those words once when Jon was younger. He assumed it was just an off-hand comment but Ned started saying it more often as Jon got older. 

“They’d rather have no monarchy than us in power,” Sansa remarked.

“Once the great lords see that this was done to protect our people, they won’t question it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

“Sansa, don’t be such a skeptic. This is how great dynasties survive. They adapt and overcome.” Robb threw his arm around her shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

Sansa hurriedly shrugged it off as another person approached them.

“You must be Princess Sansa,” the gentle, velvety voice greeted.

Draped in fabric the color of a soft sunset and a cluster of suns sitting on her head, the woman stood as tall as Sansa and possessed the same beauty and grace. The Queen smiled as Sansa curtseyed to her. 

“Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you.”

“The same to you. You are a breath of fresh air at this court.”

“Thank you.” Sansa blushed. 

“If I could, I would have you moved here immediately.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“There’s always space.” she winked before turning. “And you must be Prince Jon.”

Between the too friendly Rhaegar and Daenerys’ cold shoulder, it was the nicest greeting he’d experienced that day. He nodded and greeted her back. 

“If it’s alright with you, Jon, I’d like to speak alone.”

Sansa didn’t need to be told twice. Like the socially adept woman she was, she threaded her arm through Robb’s and towed him away. She glanced back over her shoulder in a ‘good luck’ gesture and Jon prepared himself for his conversation with the queen.

“Have you had the opportunity to talk with my sister?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. _She keeps avoiding me_. 

“That’s a shame. I’m sure she’ll find her way to you eventually. She just returned home and everyone is excited to talk to her about university and her charity work and who knows what else,” Elia rambled, slipping her arm through Jon’s and leading him away from the display table and the crowds.

When they were away from people the queen lowered her voice, “I’m almost afraid to ask what you’ve heard.”

“About the Princess?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not all terrible. But the majority of it’s been … concerning but I’ve learned that the whispers of any court can breed lies.”

“That’s true. Daenerys is too fierce for her own good but Targaryen’s are nothing without their fire. How are you handling the announcement?”

It was the first time that night someone asked him how he felt. His family had been up in arms, weighing 

“As well as I can at the moment.”

“Good. Arranged marriages have fallen out of touch but my marriage was arranged and Rhaegar and I are very much in love.” She turned her face to look out over the crowd.

Jon followed her gaze and found it rested on the tall, silver-haired king engaged in conversation with several older gentlemen.

“Daenerys will come around. You know, she doesn’t act it, but she’s very much a romantic. When she was younger we would have movie nights and she only wanted to watch classic romances.”

It was hard to imagine the cold woman gliding across the floor as someone who enjoyed romance movies. There was warmth in them, not in her. He certainly didn’t see where the Queen saw the romance in an arranged marriage with the two most uninterested parties. 

An assistant approached the queen and whispered something in her ear.

“I’m so sorry but I have to go catch Rhaegar before he gives his speech about this year's charity,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it. Duty calls.”

She laughed and gave him a knowing look before following her assistant off. 

Rhaegar’s speech proved to be unnecessarily long but it allowed Jon to see Daenerys up close. As the king stood at a podium on a makeshift platform, Elia and Daenerys stood beside him. 

She laughed at the jokes and smiled at the right times, her eyes sparkling. Even as the speech drew on she maintained her upright posture and never fidgeted. She’d probably experienced longer speeches and spent hours in tedious lessons with impossible teachers.

Rhaegar finished his speech to a polite round of applause and stood with his wife while the photographer snapped a photo.

That was when Daenerys looked down at Jon. Their eyes met. He expected a nice reaction, maybe a smile of sympathy to show that she understood how complicated their situation was. Instead, she clenched her jaw and hardened her eyes. Elia whispered something in her ear that drew her attention away from Jon.

The party resumed and he found himself clenching his fist with an unconscious intensity. He was wound up and starting to get desperate. The princess still evaded him at every turn and the heat of the room was starting to get to him. He knew there was a garden just outside the doors and no one from the court made an effort to talk to him. His eyes locked on the doors and he didn’t break concentration until he stepped through them.

The gallery between the courtyard and the ballroom was dark and quiet but there were people gathered on the various settees that lined the walls. And it was still too many people for Jon. The patio and gardens just beyond were occupied as well.

He continued down the hall, not even looking at the portraits of various Targaryen ancestors or idyllic scenes. He found another door and followed it out. 

The fragrant smell of citrus and flowers welcomed him. The air was heavy but still cool. Wherever he was, wasn’t outside. He heard trickling water from within and followed the sound. 

Trees lined the walls and life-sized statues of naked water bearers and intimate scenes of lovers hid among the plants. And a man sat at the edge of a pool, smoking a cigarette with a bottle of liquor by his side.

A woman floated in the shallow fountain, wearing nothing but a white nightgown. Her silver hair fanned around her, as pale as the moonlight that fell through the glass and onto the rippling water.

Jon didn’t know what to do. He knew he should’ve left, it was a private moment, but then the woman spoke.

“Jorah?”

The man hummed, blowing the smoke from his cigarette into the air.

“Do you think they’re missing me right now?”

“I told them you were jetlagged and needed sleep. I don’t think they bought it but we’ll see.”

She sat up, pulling her hair over her shoulder and finally stood. She locked eyes with Jon and gasped. It was then that he noticed the slip was see-through from the water. He should’ve run right there but his feet were heavy as lead. 

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, the edge in her voice cold as ice.

Jon wanted to respond but his mouth was dry.

It was her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to extend a huge thank you to the readers who have sent me positive comments! They mean the world and have definitely helped me through the day and reinforced that my story is worth reading and continuing. (Not that I was ever going to stop writing this fic, it's quite literally my baby!)


	8. wearing a warning sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany attempts to keep control of her situation

* * *

The palace’s water garden was built at the request of Maron Martell, husband to the first Princess Daenerys and the one from which Dany got her name, for his visiting family. The greenhouse was humid with plants native to Dorne and several different water fixtures mimicking the ones in the real Watergardens. It was the most peaceful place in the whole complex and where Dany escaped to when everyone else was occupied.

Floating in the gardens was a tradition for her, born from the days when she and Elia would sneak snacks from the kitchens and have a picnic. And sometimes, Rhaegar would join them but those were the days before Aerys’ health took a turn for the worse. Rheagar never picnicked with them again.

Her little tradition was the same every time. After she completed the necessary duties of the night, she would meet Jorah in the concert hall attached to the ballroom, change, and then slip into the gardens unnoticed. It was her sacred alone time and now it was sullied by a trespasser. 

The figure was obscured by the shadows of the palms and backlit by the dim gallery. They made no effort to move from the side of the room. 

“I’ll ask one more time, who are you?”

“I’m sorry. I was just looking for an empty room.”

He ventured another step into the garden, the moonlight settling over his angular features, highlighting the unmistakable arrogant youth in his face. It was him. 

_Fuck,_ she cursed and turned her eyes up to the Gods, _you won’t let me catch one break_. 

“What are you doing here?”

Despite the warm air, a shiver passed through her. Her hair clung to her arms and the slip to her thighs. She crossed her arms over her chest.

He shrugged off his suit jacket, “Just looking for a quiet place.”

He held it out to her. She looked from the jacket in this hand to his face. 

“Nothing no one hasn’t seen before.”

Even in her intimate state, she needed to keep her sense of authority. She knew her appearance made him uneasy and she planned to exploit that. She wrung her hair as she stepped out of the pool, water dripping from the hem of her slip onto the Dornish marble tile. 

“Please?” He offered her the jacket again.

His expression was soft. He wasn’t commanding her or trying to even the odds. It was a simple offer. A chill gently shook her and she snatched the suit jacket from him. It was warm and smelled of orange blossoms and hearty herbs, a cologne she didn’t recognize.

“These are the queen’s private gardens, no one should be here.”

“No offense, Your Highness, but you’re in here.”

She looked him up and down, then straightened her posture, “I’m a member of the Royal House Targaryen, I’m allowed to go wherever I please.”

“Princess, what would like me to do?” Jorah questioned from behind her.

Dany jumped at the sound of his voice. She’d been so focused on Jon she forgot Jorah was still in the room. She could have him take the prince away and go back to her floating but she was too wound up from the intrusion to find peace again. And she wasn’t ready to retire.

“You can go, Sir Jorah, I’ve got this under control.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He was only going to wait outside the proper entrance so he could escort her back to her rooms. 

“Alright, Your Highness.”

As soon as he was gone, Dany took up the bottle of whiskey and settled at the edge of the pool.

“So, you’re the poor fool they’re trying to chain me to.” 

“Aye, I’m Prince Jon of the-.”

“I know.”

She took a pull from the bottle before offering it to him. He took it.

“You spent the whole night avoiding me,” he pointed out.

“And I was doing very well until you got adventurous.” She surveyed him out of the corner of her eye. “Elia and Missy gave you glowing reviews, if you care to know.”

“Why send them to talk to me when you could’ve done it yourself?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

She remembered her promise to Elia, about giving Jon a chance. A thought struck her. _Was this prince going to give her the same chance_?

“What have you heard about me?”

“That you’re calculated. You’re fast and loose and you burn through men like wildfire.”

There it was. He already made up his mind based on fictitious information spread by petty old hags and jealous debutantes. If that was what he expected of Daenerys, she was more than happy to give it to him.

“And despite all of that you’re somehow convinced I would be a good match? That you would want me to stand at your side for the rest of your life?”

She swished her legs through the water, watching the way it slid off her legs. 

“Of course not but if it means my people live through winter…”

“What’s it like?”

“The North?”

“No, Dorne,” she simpered then rolled her eyes, “Yes, you’re home. What’s it like?”

“It’s cold and it snows a lot.”

“Doesn’t sound like the proper place for a Targaryen.”

“It’s not.”

She should’ve been offended, angry even, but his comment rolled off of her like the water on her legs. The alcohol of the night inhibited her ability to feel much else but deep contempt.

“Well, you’ll have to find someone else to grant your aid.”

“You’re not going through with the arrangement?”

“Why would I want to?”

“You would be helping a whole country.”

“Ask yourself this, what does _my_ country have to gain from this?”

He went silent and not in contemplation. She took the whiskey back.

“You see, this marriage is a way for Rhaegar to sell me off. He sees it as a way to settle me down and ship me away so I’ll stop ruining his day with revealing headlines. He doesn’t care about the North, he cares about his reputation.”

It was not Rhaegar’s fault that he was so protective of the Targaryen name. The dynasty stayed in power for 800 years by adapting and changing, making people like them and setting an example of the highest kind. As he’d told her earlier, the people were growing tired of the burden the monarchy represented and any step out of line, any crack in their perfectly molded facade would be an invitation for the destruction of the Targaryen line.

The worst part was, Dany couldn’t imagine a life of not being a royal. She’d gone to university and experienced something like it there. But even then it was easy for her and money was never an issue. If the crown fell, every day would be uncertain and her life would be in danger.

“I don’t care what your family gets out of it, as long as my people get what they need to survive.”

She stood, the bottle still clutched in hand, “What do you know of marriage treaties?”

“Not much.”

 _Perfect_. 

“They’re just like regular ones. They require that representatives of the two parties sit down and discuss terms and agreements. While I assume you’re already sold on the fact that your country needs me to secure supplies, there’s still the very tricky matter of my opinion.”

She approached a statue of two lovers, bare and frozen, their mouths inches away. She heard his dress shoes on the tile as he followed.

“That’s why my family came south. To convince you to say yes, to help us.”

“No.” she turned on him. “You were dragged here to be appraised like cattle.” 

Her features were placid despite her need to scream. To rage. To raise her voice and burn him with her words.

“You know what you have to do and you’ve made up your mind. But me? I get to decide whether or not this whole operation happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you need to convince me to help you if my word didn’t matter on this subject?” 

He was silent again. His eyes betrayed nothing but Dany got the feeling he knew what was coming next. In their stillness, Dany took in how the moonlight laid on his strong face. Something about the scene awoke an urge within her.

Dany was well aware of her affinity for pretty men. Hells, the whole world knew she couldn’t say no to an attractive face. Under normal circumstances, nothing would stop her from adding the Northern Prince to her collection but this conquest came with a significant amount of baggage. And there was an edge to him that reminded her of Daario.

Daario. She hadn’t told him where she was going before she left. He probably thought she was still mad at him and that was why she wasn’t home. When in truth, she’d hardly looked at her phone since her flight took off. And the few times she did, there were no missed calls or text messages.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a harsh laugh from the prince.

“What?” she demanded.

“All day I’ve been told to play nice and make a good impression on you and your family.”

“As you should,” she affirmed, the corner of her mouth tugged into a pleased grin.

“But you… you-”

“I what?”

“You’ve been a rude bitch the whole night.”

Dany supposed she deserved that but it didn’t lessen the sting. She fought hard to keep her composure, the same self-satisfied smirk standing vigilant. She knew the people of the court compared her to fire but Dany liked to think of herself as the _personification_ of the element. Beautiful and warm from a distance, scalding and dangerous up close. 

If she was fire, he was cold, unyielding ice. 

“Did you expect anything less?”

“I don’t want this any more than you-”

“Then why make such an effort?”

“Have you seriously not heard a word out of my mouth? My people are in danger! Our economy isn’t strong enough to secure trade with anyone else. You’re their only help so get off your damn high horse and realize that there are people more important than you.

“I know what it’s like to have people whispering behind my back and calling me names that I don’t deserve. Our lives and positions come with baggage that not even we understand but unlike you, I haven’t decided to take it out on everyone around me and burn more bridges than I build.”

His brief rant brought him closer to her and she caught another whiff of his cologne. She tilted her chin up to meet his gaze but her smirk was gone. There was a fierceness in his eyes that reminded Dany of herself. He was ice but there was a fire burning in there, deep below his cool exterior.  
Dany would usually fight until she’d worn down her opponent but she’d been put in her place three times in one day. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. 

“Here,” she whispered, taking a step back and holding up the bottle of liquor.

“What’s this for?”  
“If you want to marry me, you’re going to need that and a lot more,” she told him.

She looked upon his face one last time before she turned to leave.

“Does this mean you’ll go through with it?”

Dany paused and looked over her shoulder. Her hair and slip were nearly dry, but she kept Jon’s suit jacket wrapped around her. She intended to melt him, to reduce him to nothing more than water under another burning bridge. But he tempered her and shrank the uncontrollable blaze of her nature.

“The North sounds like a lovely country. I would like to see it sometime.”

She slipped out the greenhouse door, making her way back to her apartments, Jorah trailing dutifully behind her. He didn’t ask questions, he heard it all. 

The back hall was quiet considering there was a party still blazing nearby. The distant sounds of music and numerous conversations muffled by the thick walls. The rooms flanking it shut up, waiting for their occupants to return. It reminded her of walking through their summer home on Dragonstone.

The ancient keep stood empty for most of the year, used only for exclusive diplomatic trips and the Targaryen’s summer vacations. The first few hours there were spent breezing through the lifeless corridors and reveling in the solitude.

Dragonstone was meant to be bestowed to Viserys, since he was second eldest, but after his death, the lands and titles fell to Dany. She planned to make it her permanent residence when she eventually settled down but if things went according to Rhaegar’s plan, she wouldn’t need to worry about that. 

They arrived at her door and she thanked Jorah and went inside. Still wrapped in the prince’s suit jacket, she shook out her hair and lay across the settee. The exhaustion she forced to the side settled in, weighing her limbs down, but her mind still rattled with the words Jon said.

No one looking to gain her favor had ever spoken to her like that, no one ever dared. They were overly nice, bought her expensive things, and complimented her to no end. All to appease her scaley nature and get somewhere, and it always worked. When their relations inevitably bored her, they said nothing and found someone else to bide their time. There was never a time they called her out on her behavior.

Rhaegar tried but their confrontations focused on public habits, not so much her behavioral ones. And the words hurled around in those verbal scuffles never stuck. They didn’t dig their claws into her already abused brain and drag her down a long and winding path of second-guessing. 

Luckily, a knock at her door pulled her away from a downward spiral of overthinking. Elia swept into the room with Missandei on her arm. They were blushing and bubbly, glowing from the social atmosphere. 

“It’s so dark in here,” Missy commented as Dany reached up to turn on the lamp. 

“Did you get to talk to Prince Jon?” Elia asked, her voice a mixture of business and giddy girlishness.

As if they were teenage girls at a sleepover about to discuss their crushes.

“Yes, we had quite the discussion,” Dany answered, allowing herself a stupid smirk.

The two looked her up and down. Missy pursed her lips as she sank into the seat at the vanity. 

“Oh, Dany, please tell me you didn’t-”

“Don’t worry Elia, nothing happened. Nothing _fun_ anyway. This-” she tugged at the fabric around her- “was just a gentlemanly gesture.”

“Is that where you disappeared to?” Missy questioned.

“We just happened to run into each other.”

“And?”

“We talked.”

“What did you talk about?” pressured Elia, still standing.

She’d shifted her weight and placed her hands on her hips, employing her motherly nature.  
“I’d prefer not to say.”

“Daenerys…”

A warning.

“Elia, I’ve made up my mind. About the marriage.”

Missy sat up straighter.

“And what did you decide?”

“I decided that I need more time. A month at least before anything is official. I need to tie up some … loose ends.”

Elia swooped down to hug Dany, pulling her up from the bed. Dany wished she could share in the queen’s happiness but she felt devoid of anything but deep-seated dread. 

“I’ll tell Rhaegar in the morning, he’ll be overjoyed. I’m so glad you’re considering this. You’re going to be an amazing queen.”

Missy cleared her throat, “I’m really sorry to rain on the parade, but Dany won’t be a queen. She’ll still be a princess. For Dany to become Queen of the North, she needs to be granted the crown matrimonial.”

“How do you know this?”

“Missandei studied world governments as part of her degree in Public Relations,” Dany informed Elia. 

“And a quick glance back at my notes on the North told me that traditionally the Crown Matrimonial is only granted once the consort in question proves themselves worthy through an act of honor and great courage.”

The princess frowned and looked toward Elia.

“When you attend the contract meeting tomorrow, bring it up. I’m sure Rhaegar will have it amended to the documents.”

Dany didn’t try to fight back the yawn that crawled its way out, hoping it would remind Elia that she was tired and wanted to sleep. The queen gave her another tight squeeze and hugged Missandei before saying her goodbyes and slipping from the room. Missy was staying with Dany because the guest apartments were for diplomatic guests only. 

Not long after, there was another knock on the door. Dany let out a groan of frustration and got up to answer it. She expected Rhaegar, but it was only the night maid stopping by to collect the dresses. She finally removed the suit jacket and gave it to the woman, requesting that it be express cleaned and returned to Prince Jon first thing in the morning.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married… in a month,” Missandei sighed as they lay on Dany’s bed.

Dany stared at the ceiling, trying to calm her racing mind, “Me neither.”

If she had her way, by the end of the month, there would be no wedding and the past twenty-four hours would only be a bad memory.


	9. just an arrogant son of a bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions between Jon and Dany rise

* * *

Sitting in the cavernous official office of King Rhaegar Targaryen felt unsettling. Whether it was the dark color scheme or the dragon statues leering at him, Jon couldn’t say, but the subject they were gathered to discuss certainly didn’t help.

They were situated around a smaller table in the room, not the impressive desk at the other end. Papers were splayed around and Ned and Rhaegar spent hours discussing each point in the new contract. Daenerys stewed in silent rage across from Jon, as she had that morning.

The Starks were invited to breakfast in the formal dining room with the royal family. Jon expected another stuffy, extravagant hall with a mile-long table weighed down by hundreds of food options. The Targaryens basking in the glory of their ostentatious wealth. What he got surprised him. 

The impressive chandeliers were off in favor of the natural light from the tall windows. The mile-long dining table was much more modest with just enough seats to fit all of them in. And the light breakfast foods were offered on a platter in the center. 

The only open seat was across from the Princess and Jon swallowed down the curses he wanted to utter. She had her back to the windows, the morning sunlight making a halo out of her white-gold hair. The princess looked up when he entered, something strange flickering in her eyes before she tore her gaze away. Under any other circumstances, Jon would’ve appreciated the beautiful scene and maybe tried his hand at a compliment, but considering their confrontation the night before he thought it best if he kept his mouth shut.

Just the look of her brought back images of last night. Wet hair over a black-clad shoulder, a whiskey bottle clasped in a pale hand. The drenched, see-through slip and a pair of violent violet eyes trying to conceal their anger at the world.

She avoided eye contact with him the whole time, preferring to push her food around her plate and throw a few disinterested comments Elia’s way. 

She spoke to Jon only once, breaking her pointless silence to say, “I trust your jacket made it back to you.”

“In perfect condition,” he answered. 

They returned to their silence for the rest of the breakfast. Occasionally, Jon would sneak a glance at her, only to find that she was looking at him too. They both averted their eyes and went back to their food.

The two played the same game as Rhaegar and Ned discussed yet another point on the treaty. 

“There is one thing I would like to propose as an amendment to the contract,” the young woman spoke up, straightening her posture from the slouched, disinterested pose before.

“What’s that Daenerys?”

“The Crown Matrimonial.”

King Eddard sighed and Jon tightened his hands around the armrests to keep his face from betraying him.

Reading the change in demeanor the princess asked, “Is there a problem?”

Eddard began, “No, it’s-”

“You’ve no right to it,” Jon blurted

She arched an eyebrow at him, tilting her chin up in defiance.

“What my son means is that traditionally the crown matrimonial is-”

“I know. Only granted when the consort in question proves themselves worthy through an act of honor or great courage. I think entering a lifelong commitment to provide your country with supplies to make it through winter is an honorable action.”

“Dany…” Rhaegar sighed.

As she turned her head to look at her brother, Jon noticed the numerous braids in her hair. All wrapped and pinned around each other with precision. She looked like a queen sitting on a war council, carefully planning her next strategic move.

“Normally, the honorable action is childbirth or, in ancient cases, serving in war. It’s a title that must be earned, not bartered away. I hope you understand that this is the reason we withhold the crown matrimonial.” Ned explained.

Rheagar and Daenerys exchanged looks, the King’s eyes burning in warning.

“Is there any way we could keep it on the table?”

“Of course but the final decision rests with the Council of High Lords.”

Jon didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. Were they really so desperate? 

Daenerys hummed, “No crown, no contract.”

With that, she stood and strode from the room, as though it was a casual conversation between passers-by.

“I’m very sorry about her. She just needs time.” Rhaegar collected the papers and put them into a folder marked with the Targaryen crest.

Ned nodded, “I understand.”

“She asked that we give her a month before anything is finalized.”

“And if she decides against this?” Jon asked.

Rhaegar reached for a second folder and opened it, “ I doubt she will but, just to be safe, we planned a month-long tour of the North. If you give her a chance to see why your people need her, she’ll be sympathetic. Daenerys may not act it but she has the biggest heart in this family.”

The tour of the North was strategic to say the least. The first stop in White Harbor, a public appearance at one of the homeless shelters there, then to Winterfell for a few days before setting off to the Mountain Clans. They would arrive in time for Midsummer celebrations. 

It would be fun to watch the southern princess try to understand the ancient celebrations. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction when they told her it was rude to not participate.

When he returned to his rooms he found Robb and Sansa planning a night out. And before he knew it he was dressed up and towed to a rented car.

Sansa made a big deal about wanting to spend more time exploring the city instead of stuck in the castle where they felt like outsiders. Jon knew she just wanted to be seen by the somebodies of King’s Landing.

“Sansa, where are we going?”

“I heard a couple of ladies talking about the Dragonpit last night.”

“The Dragonpit?” Robb rolled his eyes.

Everything in the damned city had a dragon theme to it even when the business didn’t exclude dragon energy.

“It’s super exclusive with tight security and I think we should go.”

“What makes you think they’ll let you in? You’re still seventeen.” Jon joked.

Sansa protested in her usual way, “And three-fourths! Besides, my age doesn’t matter because I’m somebody.”

“Yeah, everyone in the South knows who we are.” Robb’s sarcastic comment had no effect on her positive disposition.

“They will by the time we leave.”

The Dragonpit was in the basement of a high rise in the New City. Cameramen crowded the entrance, held back by a velvet rope. The flashes of their cameras like lightning in a summer storm, their shouts the accompanying thunder. 

Sansa walked down the paved path with all the confidence of a queen. Flipping her hair and smiling for the cameras, flanked by her brothers. Robb gave his best performance but Jon couldn’t find it in him to fake anything. The bouncer didn’t even try to stop her and as they descended the stairs, they found themselves in another world.

The name ‘The Dragonpit’ insinuated a medieval vibe but the space beneath the building was ultra-modern. The dance floor was crowded, the people revealed through flashes of the stage lights surrounding the DJ’s booth. Low red lights around the club signaled where the extra seating was. Sansa went straight to the dance floor, Robb following to keep an eye on her. Jon however, went straight for the bar. 

The backlit liquor options and the black marble countertop were too fancy. The heavy bass from the music made it so Jon had to shout his order to the bartender. His unwillingness to be there doubling by the second. 

A commotion at the entrance drew his attention. The song blasting through the speakers faded out and the DJ proclaimed over his mic, “Looks like a special guest just dropped in. Ladies and gentlemen, Her Royal Highness Daenerys Targaryen!”

This time Jon did swear, the applause and cheers loud enough to drown him out. The Gods had it out for him, he was certain of that now.

The track switched back on, the bass reverberating through the crowded club again. Jon’s eyes followed her as she was swallowed by the people on the dance floor. The bright strobe lights reflected off her silvery hair and the impractical hoops hanging from her ears threw it any which way.

It wasn’t long until she made her way to the bar.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she complained when she saw him. 

Her hair was still braided from earlier but the short red dress was a complete turnaround from the soft grey sweater she’d worn that morning.

“If you care to know, my sister dragged me here.”

“You’re sister? Isn’t she a bit young to be going to clubs?”

“No one tells Sansa no.”

“Maybe someone should.” Despite her previous rudeness upon seeing him, she sat next to him.

“I understand you changed your mind,” Jon said, eyeing her.

“I didn’t change my mind, I bought myself time.”

“So you can try to wiggle your way out of having responsibility?”

Instead of the deathly stare he expected, she arched a brow at him.

“So I don’t have to spend the rest of my life with _you_.”

The bartender came around and took her attention away.

“A Braavosi Apple Martini and a Dragon’s Blood.”

“Cocktails? You were drinking stronger stuff last night.”

“I’m here with Missandei and I’m banned from drinking in public.”

“Whatever you say,” he smirked.

He knew what game he was playing. It was how he got Theon to do anything stupid. Jon didn’t want Daenerys to embarrass herself but their love of liquor was the only thing they had in common.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she sneered.

“No, but I’ve heard plenty.”

Her jaw tightened and she lengthened her neck. Jon learned quickly that it was her little way of gathering confidence, preparing for battle.

“Fine,” she declared and reached over the bar, “If that’s how you want to play it.”

She slammed down two shot glasses. The bartender came over with her previous order and she demanded a bottle of Crown Royal.

He knew he should’ve stayed away from the alcohol, it never ended well, but the princess was a challenge he was determined to beat.

“Let’s turn it into a game. We make assumptions about each other. For each one you get right, I take a shot and vice versa.”

“I have to warn you, I’m very good at reading people.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m impossible to read.”

Jon shook his head, no one was impossible to read. Bastards had to learn to notice things and that aspect of his nature was honed during his military time.

“Ladies first,” he offered, sliding his original glass out of the way.

She narrowed her violet eyes at him, scanning his face.

“Your best friend is your brother.”

Jon took the shot then considered Daenerys as she refilled his glass.

“You’ve played this game before.”

“That’s obvious,” she pointed out, the edge of the glass hovering in front of her lips.

The nude shade she wore was soft and inviting unlike the vicious red of the night before. Jon found himself watching as they parted into a smirk before taking her shot.

“You smoke. You told everyone you quit but you still do it.”

Jon took his shot.

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“When you gave me your jacket last night.” she reached into her bag and slid the pack across the bar. “You left your pack in the pocket.”

“And you’ve been carrying it around with you?”

She shrugged, “There might be a couple missing. Your turn.”

A few shots later, Missandei came over to see what was taking Dany so long. She saw them together and simply grabbed her drink and told Jon to keep an eye on her.

“You joined the military because you felt like you had something to prove,” she stated.

Jon couldn’t refuse her and took the shot. The previous assumptions were light, simple things that barely scratched the surface of a person, but Daenerys made it clear that she wanted to move on. She had ripped away the skin and was ready to tear into the meat of her prey. 

“You ran off to college to escape your family.”

“And this dreadful city,” she added before tipping back the glass.

“Your father is the reason for your discharge from the military, not an accident, like your profile said.”

Shot. It was only half true.

“You’ve been with more than three people.”

Shot.

“You’ve never been with anyone.”

He allowed himself a stupid smirk as her eyes shifted from the shi\ot glass to him.

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him as though she didn’t believe it before reaching over the bar and taking the shot for him. 

“For getting one wrong,” she excused.

As they carried Jon felt the pressure building in his head as he tried to come up with something.

“Your relationship with the Dothraki Khal was much deeper than people know.”

Her jaw ticked as the words left his mouth. She furiously threw the shot back, setting the glass down with more effort than needed. He’d really struck a nerve. He should’ve backed off and sober him would’ve but the alcohol made him bolder. It blurred the lines between the self he presented and the one that looked at the world through a bitter lens.

They continued, the world blurred around the edges but both of them were determined to get the other to quit. Especially Daenerys. 

“You hate me.”

Gone was the diplomacy and tact. She was messy, trying to get as many hits on him as she could, trying to get him where it hurt. Jon thought he saw how ruthless she could be last night but she proved herself to be even more devastating now.

He clasped his hand around the shot glass but when it came time to take it, he paused. He wanted to take the shot, to throw it in her face that she didn’t phase him and her little games were pointless, but something deep in his mind stopped him. 

She took note of his hesitation, “Well?”

The smug look on her face was all it took. Before he could second guess it, the liquor was sliding down his throat. He found comfort in the way it burned. 

“Good because I can’t stand you either.”

He didn’t need to think hard on what he would say to her, he’d figured it out last night. 

“You’re in love with that Tyrohsi millionaire- what was his name? Daario Naharis?”

From the way her eyes widened Jon knew he caught her off guard. The corner of her mouth twitched like she wanted to say something, but she pushed the glass toward Jon. 

“You got one wrong.” she slapped money down on the counter for their alcohol.

“And you’re not lying?”

She released a bitter laugh, “I don’t get attached. The press just spots me with any man and assumes I’m already planning the wedding.”

“If you weren’t so public with your exploits, the media wouldn’t have so much stake in your life.”

“Let’s think about this critically for a moment. If you were to exhibit the same behaviors-”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t interrupt me,” she snapped.

Jon didn’t think the look in her eyes could turn any more venomous but it did.

“If you were to do the same things, people wouldn’t bat an eye because you’re a man. I don’t care what higher moral authority you think you have but don’t assume for one second that makes you better than me. If the roles were reversed, your reputation wouldn’t be affected at all.”

“That’s where you're wrong,” Jon corrected.

“Oh really? Explain it to me.”

“I was born a bastard. When I was legitimized that title didn’t go away, it was put under a magnifying glass. If I stepped out of line there would be more than whispers in the court. It’s not only my reputation on the line, it’s my family’s.”

He stopped himself before he could mention the underlying tensions with the other high lords. That was deeper than he needed to go. And there was no need to discuss private matters of state with a woman who could care less.

She was quiet in that contemplative way when people thought things over. Jon was reminded of last night, when his outburst led to her reconsideration of the marriage contract. That same night he realized he was the only person who had ever told her off. She could’ve used that during their meeting to free herself from the arrangement but she didn’t. Not for the first time did Jon wonder what was going on in that pretty, stubborn head of hers.

“Do you think I have a higher moral authority now?”

“No. But I’m not one to ignore the pressures and restrictions monarchy puts on us. Let’s call it a truce. At least until you give me another reason for an alcohol-fueled confrontation.”

She held her Dragon’s Blood cocktail up, her face betraying no emotion. Not even a smile at their hastily made peace. He clinked her glass with his empty one. She retreated to the dance floor where her friend was, surprisingly sturdy on her high heels with the alcohol she’d consumed. Then again, she boasted about her ability to hold liquor. 

He had no interest in joining the mass of bodies and heat that was the dance floor. He preferred to observe what kind of foolishness took place.

Sansa danced near the edge of the floor, Robb kept an eye on her from outside the commotion. He was usually in the middle of it all but Talisa gave him quite the talk before they left. It was a good thing Robb was taking it seriously. Jon liked having Talisa around.

One of the spotlights blazed across the crowd and Jon’s eyes followed. When they landed on the braided, white-blonde hair of Princess Daenerys, he didn’t look away. She mouthed the words to the song with her eyes closed, head thrown back and body moving with the beat. The track ended and as the crowd on the floor responded to the DJ, she looked dead at Jon. A new bassline rumbled through the club and she was leaving. For the second time that day, she was storming out because of Jon.


	10. i wanted to leave him, i needed a reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they-dies and gentle-thems, the moment you've been waiting for...
> 
> Dany calls it quits

* * *

“It was announced this morning that Her Highness, Princess Daenerys, will embark on a month-long tour of the North. The Official Statement from the Red Palace states that the trip is meant to encourage friendly relations with our Northern neighbors despite our current estranged nature. Princess Daenerys will be accompanied by-”

Dany turned the TV off before the reporter could deliver the worst part of the news. She would get to leave King’s Landing but every place she went would be a publicity event, filled with flashing cameras and nosy reporters. And worst of all, she would spend it with people she hardly knew.

The pounding in her head hadn’t subsided all morning, even after she’d specially ordered eggs fried in bacon grease and a whole carafe of black coffee. She’d let her temperamental nature get the best of her last night. And then he’d gone and mentioned Daario. 

No matter what she did, she still let Jon under her skin. Like the way he paused when she claimed he hated her. The memory was hazy but she knew she held her breath as she waited for his response.

Surprisingly, Rhaegar hadn’t ordered a press conference about Dany’s trip, leaving her free to do whatever she wanted until she and Elia had their movie night. They planned it last minute when they realized it would be their last one for a while. 

There was one pressing matter she needed to take care of but she kept delaying it. She’d already wandered through the palace and the gardens and found herself in the gallery, standing in front of the first official portrait of a Targaryen monarch. 

King Aemon the Peaceful stared back at her with his oddly painted face. Before him, pictures of the monarchs were recorded in manuscripts by maesters and those were preserved at the Citadel. Commissioning an artist wasn’t popular until his reign because he was the first to rule without a war. 

Across from him was an artist’s reimaging of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya. The two sisters stood strong in their plate armor, staring off into the distance as Aegon held the two ancient Valyrian steel longswords “Dark Sister” and "Blackfyre" in the air. There was debate about whether Dark Sister belonged to Visenya and was never attributed to her, but the old historians at the Citadel were slow to revisit the topic.

Dany felt for her phone in her back pocket. She wished she could be as strong as her ancestors, then again, she faced a very different kind of battle. Affairs of conquering could hardly be compared to affairs of the heart. 

She wandered past more scenes of male rulers before stopping at her favorite. A gorgeous painting from the 1860s of Queen Erina, her pale pink gown stretching to the spectacular golden frame. She was never meant to be queen but her family died after a nasty illness spread through the palace while she attended finishing school in the Reach.

When Dany was a first-year in high school she auditioned for the school’s play _The Dragon Queen: A Tribute to Her Majesty Queen Erina_. Though the title was unimaginative, Dany was cast as her ancestor. Students whispered that it was only for her looks but Dany knew she was a good actress. Wearing the replica dress while delivering a monologue about choosing her country over the life she knew was one of Dany’s favorite memories. 

Her theatre career was short-lived, however. After the performances, the Drama Club advisor suggested Dany switch to the Volunteerism Group. She knew it was her father getting involved again. He always said actors were untrustworthy and the last thing their dynasty needed was to look like a bunch of liars. 

Although it was years ago, Dany felt the words from her script in a whole new way. She couldn’t draw strength from Rhaenys and Visenya but she could find it with Erina. 

“Oh, Dany, I’m glad I found you.”

Elia approached, dressed for a day of private audiences. Her jade green pantsuit pressed and tailored to perfection. 

“If you’re here to talk to me about the marriage contract, I’m going to walk away,” she warned.

“No, dear, I wanted to check on you. Am I not allowed to do that?”

She wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave a little squeeze. 

“When you found out you were going to have an arranged marriage what did you do?

“What do you mean?”

“How did you choose between _him_ and the crown?” Dany sighed, leaning her head on Elia’s shoulder.

She knew all about Elia’s relationship with a Dornish actor, even though Elia liked to pretend it never happened.

“The Crown doesn’t care that you have a personal life. When it picks you, it picks you, and you can’t say no. And before you ask, I don’t regret it and, no, it never really gets easier. But you’ve got me and Missy and Rheagar.”

Dany rolled her eyes.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it but, Dany, he wants what’s best for you. We all do.”

She didn’t want to fight back like usual. She was too tired and hungover.

“I know why you asked me about him.”

Elia put her hands on Dany’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes, “I know it’s tempting to hold onto the hope that maybe things will work out but you need to … tie up your loose ends. It will make the transition much easier once you’ve had time to move on.”

An assistant popped their head through the doorway and said, “Your Majesty? You have five minutes.”

She pressed a kiss to Dany’s forehead and retreated, leaving Dany with the weight of her decision. She took one last look at Queen Erina and her mind was made up. 

She found an empty common room in the family guest suites on the east end of the castle. Surrounded by the subdued grey hues meant to invoke the Stormlands, Dany found herself in the same position as four days ago. Her phone sat on the marble-topped coffee table, black screen mocking her. 

When Dany realized she couldn’t force the universe to do the work for her, she picked it up and dialed the number herself.

He didn’t pick up until the third ring.

“Dany?” he breathed, as if he didn’t believe it could be her.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s a relief to hear your voice. I- I’m so glad you called.”

“I know.” 

“I tried knocking on your door but you didn’t answer so I figured you needed space. It sounded like you were dealing with a lot.”

 _So that was why he hadn’t called_. Her chest tightened and she leaned back against the grey velvet of the settee.

“I am.”

“I take it things didn’t go well with Rhaegar.”

“He summoned me home. I’m not sure I’ll ever see my apartment again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something came up but that’s not the reason why I called. It’s- well- Daario, it’s about us.”

“Dany, I told you. Let me come to King’s Landing and meet your brother. He’ll see that we make a perfect couple and-”

“Please, don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“That we’re a perfect couple.”

“We are. We’re young, attractive, rich...”

Dany took a deep breath and prepared herself to begin the small speech she’d stitched together on her walk to the common room. 

“I really wanted to do this in person but my current circumstances won’t allow for it.”

“What are you-”

“I’m breaking up with you,” she blurted.

The sound of his breathing on the other line unsettled her. She wanted to hang up right then and block his number but it was too immature and cowardly. _I am the blood of the dragon and dragons fear nothing_. 

“Why?”

“For legal reasons, I can’t tell you.”

“You’re lying.”

Her grip on her phone tightened as she tried to stay polite but things were taking a messy turn, she could feel it.

“Everything will make sense soon, I promise.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She opened her mouth to respond but he cut her off.

“Is Rhaegar making you do this?” 

“Daario-”

“You can make decisions for yourself Dany.”

“Not this time.”

“Stop being so goddamn cryptic and tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re not listening to me,” she argued.

“You’re not telling me anything worth listening to.”

She took a deep breath, “We have to end this.”

“Because this is honestly not working or because it’s what the crown wants?”

Unable to ignore the tension in her body, she stood up to pace the room. She clenched and unclenched her fist, trying to redirect the need to punch something. 

“I don’t need this from you,” she said. 

“You know, I heard the rumors they said about you but I ignored them. I thought you were different-”

“I am!” she defended.

“-but you’re just like they say. A cold-hearted _bitch_ who throws away men when she gets tired of them.”

Every instinct Dany knew failed her. Her mouth fell open and the tension in her limbs dissipated. It felt like every ounce of strength in her was focused on her throat, which grew tighter by the second.

He knew she hated that word, especially when it was directed at her.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, Dany, I do.”

“But- but you wanted to make this official. You wanted to meet my family.”

“Well, I realized something. I realized that I have constantly made sacrifices for you. Leaving clubs separate and taking different cars and sneaking around and always _waiting_ for you to call first. I made peace with the fact that I would always have to share you but I’m a fucking millionaire and that isn’t good enough for you?”

“Do you think it didn’t kill me either? You know why it had to be that way.”

“It doesn’t matter now because I’m just another destination on your long road of conquests.”

“That’s not true.”

Her eyes stung and she felt the familiar pinching in the bridge of her nose.

“I’m sure it’s not,” he scoffed, “Why don’t you save that lie to your next victim when he inevitably falls in love with you.”

Dany opened her mouth to respond but the beep of the call ending stopped her. She wanted to hurl her phone across the room and break every precious item around her. Instead, she sank to her knees, the upper half of her body resting against the seat of the sofa.

She was upset about Daario and his harsh words but something else in her broke and the tears didn’t stop. They blazed down her cheeks as her chest heaved and her vision blurred. 

She hadn’t even cried that way when her father died. She’d calloused her heart by then and grew angry instead of letting people see her weep. _Tears are only for children and the weak_ , she told herself, _and I am neither_. 

Repeating those words did little to stop the sobs, they just hurt her more. Dany wasn’t sure when she stopped crying over Daario but the tears still came, quieter now, as her mind moved through all of the events of the past week and beyond.

Her inevitable engagement, being ripped away from the life she desired and thrown back into the one she detested, the loss of what little freedom she had from the crown. Even her graduation, which was only a few weeks ago. It had just been Ser Jorah and Daario in the audience to cheer when her name was called. Rhaegar and Elia were too busy with preparations for the Charity Gala and planning to marry her off. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a startled voice said from the doorway.

Dany looked up to see Princess Sansa standing there.

“I was looking for Elia, she offered to give me a tour of the palace.”

Dany hiccuped, “She’s in private audiences.”

Her throat was raw. The unfamiliar sensation made her feel like her body wasn’t her own. 

“Oh. Again, I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

“Interrupting what?” Dany chuckled as she stood up.

“That seemed like a really private moment.”

She wasn’t sure how long Sansa had been at the door but she might have heard Dany’s outbursts.

“It’s fine,” Dany dismissed as she wiped under her eyes, her hand shaking as she did.

She knew she looked a mess. Puffy eyes and red nose and there was no way her mascara wasn’t smudged. 

“Did you still want a tour?”

“Are you sure? I could always wait for-”

“I could use the distraction.”

Sansa pressed her lips together before offering a terse nod. Dany attempted a smile before leading her guest down the hallway. 

Throughout the tour, Sansa let her icy facade melt away. She became a physically warmer person. Dany got her talking about school and her choices of universities. She was set to graduate in the coming year and had her eyes on the University of Braavos, but she knew her dad would insist on Barrowton or White Harbor. Then music and pop culture, which led to a brief conversation about Dany’s coarse relationship with the tabloids.

“Was the photo acutally fake? Or was that a work of PR genius?” 

There wasn’t an ounce of timidness in her voice. Dany appreciated that.

“The whole thing was doctored. Just another display of how the press profits on the downfall of powerful women.”

“I know the North and the South aren’t close but I grew up with stories of the Targaryens. That they’re ambitious and powerful and scary and rode on the backs of dragons. I won’t lie, I thought you were like them. But you’re nothing like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Dany warned.

They turned a corner and headed down the main staircase.

“Your governess forgot to tell you that we’re cunning and calculated as well. There are rumors that my ancestors poisoned their brothers and sisters, bribed high lords and priests and common folk alike to sit their arses on the throne. The monarchy survives by adapting to the world around it, that’s what my father would say. But Targaryens survive by changing the game.”

A pair of ladies passed them, gracefully bowing their heads in respect, whispered “Your Highnesses” echoing in the hall.

“Ladies Sara and Meire Merryweather of Longtable. They’ve been at court for as long as I can remember. Lady Sara is Elia’s biggest critic after the general public but she’s just jealous she’s not one of Elia’s ladies. Lady Meire is her daughter she treats like an object. She brought her here in hopes that she would befriend me and I would keep her in my circle. It’s a shame I don’t keep friends in court. Meire’s almost been married three times but her mother keeps breaking it up so she can’t leave.”

“I see why you went to a different continent for university.”

“Court seems beautiful and perfect from the outside because Elia works hard to make it that way. Without her, this place would be an ugly reality.”

A door in the hall opened and Elia strode through it, her public appearance smile still stretched across her face.

“Speak of the Stranger,” Dany called, waving to her sister-in-law.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked when she reached them.

“I bumped into Her Highness while looking for you. And since you were busy, she gave me a tour of the palace,” Sansa answered.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along so well,” Elia stated as she waved to another member of the court as they passed. 

When the lord was gone and the hall was empty Elia’s face fell and she tore off her blazer. After tossing it to her assistant, she began massaging her cheeks.

“I can’t tell you how much that smile hurts,” she grumbled through her moving face, “Now, we have a movie night to get to.”

“Movie night?”

“Elia and I have a tradition of movie nights and we planned one last minute since I’m leaving. We just sit around, have popcorn and wine, and watch sappy romance movies until we cry.”

“That sounds fun,” Sansa commented.

Dany considered the red-headed girl beside her, “You’re more than welcome to join us.”

Sansa blinked, “Are you sure? You just said it was a tradition, I’d hate to impose.”

“I would be honored if you came along. We are going to be sisters soon.” Dany stated as she looped her arm through Sansa’s.

The comment slipped past her without a second thought and caught Dany off guard. She stopped dead in her tracks. The Northern Princess let out a snort and the three of them dissolved into giggles. Their laughter echoed through the halls as they journeyed to the in-palace movie theatre.

Movie nights were always a huge to-do and while informal, there was still a sense of showiness to them. Gourmet popcorn and the perfect wine pairings, cashmere blankets, and themed decorations. The staff did an amazing job of turning their last-minute plans into a gorgeous going away party, complete with swag bags.

“This is a little extra for me, don’t you think?” Dany asked from her seat between Elia and Missandei.

Elia, dressed in a designer pajama set and wrapped in her cashmere blanket, frowned with mock offense. “I’ll have you know that this isn’t _just_ for you. It’s for Missy and Sansa, who I’m very grateful to have met and will miss very much.”

They were halfway through their second movie when Rhaenys propped her chin on the back of Dany’s seat and asked, “Auntie Dee, are you sure you have to leave?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighed, smiling sweetly at her niece.

The frown on her face was adorable but it hurt Dany’s heart. 

“Where are you going?” Aegon demanded as he crawled onto his mother’s lap.

“On a great adventure to Princess Sansa’s homeland.”

“And if all goes well, you’ll get to go there too,” Elia encouraged, squeezing her son’s shoulders.

“Dany, I forgot to tell you the news!” Missy blurted from her spot next to her, eyes shining.

“What?”

“I got the internship with Galazza Galare! I’m leaving tomorrow for Naath so I can spend some time at home before I transfer to Meereen.”

Dany’s stomach fell. She was going North alone.

“Missy, that’s fantastic!”

She wasn’t going to let her selfishness get in the way of her happiness for her best friend. No matter how much it hurt having to let her go.

“I’ll come back in time for your wedding, of course. Both of them.”

“I wouldn’t be upset if you missed them. Galazza is great and you’re going to have the best career a girl could wish for.”

Along with her sunken stomach, Dany felt her chest growing tight. She always knew that her best friend would move on and have a career while Dany was held back. But everything felt like it was moving so fast.

The end of the movie was upon them and when the lovers were saying goodbye, Dany couldn’t hold back her tears. Her heart was still raw and bleeding and the movie did nothing but stomp on it. Missy’s hand found her’s under their blankets and Elia secured her other one. Dany wasn’t ready for tomorrow, that much was clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hear it for nervous breakdowns due to bottled-up emotions!! Yay!!- someone who has suffered over the average amount of nervous breakdowns in her life.
> 
> Also, just a fun little tidbit, Queen Erina isn't canon (obviously) but she is inspired by Queen Victoria. (Except, without all the imperialism and the helicopter mothering and the Ethiopian Prince she kept as a ward). I was originally going to go with something like Victaerya, but I decided against it. Instead, I went with a variation of the Valyrian word for victory "ērinnon", which is much more fitting to this little alt-history mash-up thing I have going here
> 
> I'll see y'all in the next one!


	11. clinging to the wild things that raised us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks return to the North

* * *

On the day they left King’s Landing, Jon was up early, as was his habit. Sansa and Robb were still asleep, and he didn’t want to wake them, but he was restless. He would have gone for a run but he didn’t know the area nor did he want to take the chance of running into another interested courtier. It seemed that no one at the Southern court knew how to mind their own business.

The three days spent in the glittering court of the Red Palace felt like an ongoing interview, constant questions and feigned interest with no end in sight. Jon never liked the spotlight, a trait he inherited from his father no doubt, but in his life that much attention was never a good thing. If his name was in headlines, it was usually criticism of his behavior. Even though Jon tried as hard as he could to never step over the line, the line continued to move. Creeping closer and closer until he would have no room left to go.

Most of the time his slip-ups went under the radar but when he first came home from his time on The Wall, he wasn’t so lucky. He was fueled with anger and resentment for his position and wanted nothing more than to take it on someone other than himself.

And then there was the inevitable engagement. All the scrutiny and harsh words would increase tenfold. Even if it did end well and his people were saved, they would never forgive him for marrying someone with a rap sheet like hers. They were both doomed. 

As he readied himself for a day of travel, he received a text from Sansa. A link to a blog dedicated to posting pictures of royalty from all over the world doing mundane things. However, the most recent posts were just photos of Jon and Daenerys from the Dragon Pit club from two nights ago. They boasted captions calling the two ‘cozy’ and speculating at a deeper connection. From the angle the photos were taken, Jon could see where it looked like that but he knew the actual conversation was anything but. 

It wasn’t long before they were taxiing down the runway in a Targaryen owned jet. Rhaegar insisted they take it, although the Starks were fine with commercial travel.

The compact interior of the private plane reinforced the cramped feeling that already followed Jon. But as the jet soared over the grey-blue waters of The Bite, he felt his jumbled and off-balanced state from the past couple of days slip away. Even as the constant reminder of his imminent fate sat right across from him he felt more comfortable knowing he would be home soon.

Across the plane from him, the Princess Daenerys still had a pair of dark, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. They hadn’t moved since she said goodbye to her friend at King’s Landing. Despite her smiles and waves, Jon knew she would rather be anywhere but there. Her security officer sat with her, the two carrying out a conversation in hushed tones.

When they landed in White Harbor, Jon breathed in relief. There were no paparazzi this time. No flashing bulbs, no raucous cries from nosey reporters. They slid through the airport with ease, unbothered despite being the most important family in the North returning from a very important trip.

White Harbor was the North’s largest city but it was still small compared to the great beasts of cities in the South. There were no high rises to be found, all the buildings favoring the old styles and keeping the city’s charm in place.

The mayor of White Harbor greeted them at the town hall along with Lord and Lady Manderly and the rest of the Stark entourage. Queen Catelyn, Bran and Arya, and Talisa. Although, Talisa would have to watch the proceedings from the crowd as she had no official standing with the royal family.

As soon as Jon was in eyesight of Arya, she bolted for him, enveloping him in a hug with all the force of a bear. After Robb, Arya was his closest sibling. Their bond was partly driven by the fact that they looked more Stark than Tully. They both had their father’s dark hair and grey eyes, Sansa and Robb took after Catelyn with auburn curls and blue eyes.

“I was only gone three days,” Jon laughed, returning her ferocious squeeze

“It felt like forever. Especially with mom babysitting us.”

Bran came second, his usual few steps behind. 

Talisa and Robb were already arm and arm. Jon’s heart arched. He would never have a chance at the affection he witnessed between them, not that there had ever been much of a chance anyway.

He’d gone so far as to deny himself a love life to avoid a scandal. He and Ygritte were brief. A quick, private affair near the end of their high school careers but they both knew it could never be anything serious. Any future contender for Queen Consort had to be from noble blood. And Ygritte, with all her charm and wild beauty, was anything but. Her father was a political upstart who made something of himself but there was no land or title to go with it. 

It was much easier with no baggage from past exes and no possible tell-all articles. But where he fell short in romantic entanglements, he made up for in physical confrontations. 

Daenerys smiled through the introductions, playing perfect princess before disappearing into the restroom to change.

“Why is she here?” Bran asked once she was out of earshot. 

“She’s helping us finalize a treaty,” Ned answered, looking between his other children who were in the know. 

His message was clear, ‘Don’t tell them’.

“What do we need the treaty for?” Arya questioned.

“That is a topic for the next family meeting.”

Ned whispered something to Catelyn and the two walked away. Jon watched them wander down the hall to another seating area.

“Is anyone going to tell us what’s happening?” Arya folded her arms over her chest and glared at her older siblings.

“We have a right to know, “ Bran seconded.

“Jon’s engaged,” blurted Sansa. 

“You’re what?” Arya gasped.

“That was fast,” Bran responded at the same time as his twin. 

Jon gave Sansa an ‘are you kidding me’ look and she mouthed sorry in return.

“It was dad’s idea and I’m sure Catelyn knows but it’s supposed to be a secret. The public can’t know until we’re ready to tell them. We aren’t even engaged yet, the documents haven’t been signed.”

“Ned mentioned a treaty and Jon came back engaged. What happened down there?” Talisa chimed in. 

“I think I’m going to side with my dad and say that’s a topic for the next family meeting.” Robb looped Talisa’s arm with his and led her away from the little gathering. 

Arya and Bran were already glued to their phones again, their hushed voices gushing over the newest app they’d discovered. Out of all the Starks, they were the most tech-savvy. They drove the press secretary mad with their under the radar social media accounts with outrageous names. Although they always covered up their faces in the photos. 

“You know, you should really try to talk to her,” Sansa prompted, not looking up from the magazine she’d returned to flipping through.

Jon didn’t need any elaboration.

“I have nothing to say to her.”

“She’s not as bad as you think.”

Jon gave his sister an incredulous look. 

“And you’re both going through the same life-changing event.”

“Just the other day you were wholly against her.”

“And? People’s opinions can change.”

“Sansa-” he started.

“I love your outfit, Your Highness,” Sansa smiled as Daenerys came out of the restroom.

“Oh, thank you.” the princess looked up from the notecards in her hand and returned Sansa’s smile.

For a moment she didn’t look so venomous. 

“And please, call me Dany. All my friends do.” 

Sansa grinned, shooting a look at Jon before turning back to her magazine. Dany, as Jon figured she wanted to be called, smoothed down the back of her black skirt as she sat. Her usual warrior-esque braids were simplified into two twists holding her soft, white-gold waves out of her face.

Sansa and Dany might be on good terms now but she had yet to make a good impression on Robb and the twins. 

Sansa flipped another page of her magazine, the crisp sound sharp in the silence of the room. Jon watched her as her eyes darted from the page to him and the Princess beside her. He could see the gears turning in her head. 

“You know what, I’m going to take a look at the crowds. Arya, Bran, wanna come with?”

Jon went to call out after her but she was already halfway down the hall, Arya and Bran trudging along with disinterest.

“Play nice!” she called over her shoulder.

He groaned and Dany chuckled.

“She’s a handful, that one.”

“You’re telling me,” she sighed.

He considered what Sansa said and swallowed his pride. _What could it hurt?_

“ Dany-”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered, not looking up from her notecards.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Only my friends call me Dany and as far as I’m concerned, Your Royal Highness-” she looked up in a sharp gesture, “we are not friends. Acquaintances, maybe, but certainly not friends.”

It could hurt a lot, it appeared.

She stood as if to leave when the royal family’s press intern rounded the corner and announced that it was time to begin the event. 

The Starks were old fashioned and kept a press secretary. It was an outdated station, the only responsibility being to send official statements to all news outlets. Their current secretary had asked for an intern to help with an official social media presence to keep the threat of paparazzi at bay. It worked as far as Jon was concerned. 

They were led from the town hall to the small stage set up outside. A canopy overhead meant to shade them from the sun or, more likely, the rain as the thick clouds crowding the sky looked dark. The Stark sigil of a grey wolf on a white and green background was displayed on banners, floating lazily on the breeze. 

Jon held out his hand to assist Daenerys up the steps. She was wearing a pair of precarious heels and he knew that stairs were a challenge for any woman in them. He’d watched Sansa parade around in them, and Arya wobble behind in a valiant attempt, for years.

Daenerys allowed her hand to hover over his to avoid being labeled as rude or too bold by the audience. The people were watching and someone was bound to notice if she blew off his chivalrous offer.

The mayor started his short introduction speech, followed by a few words from Lord Manderly. As usual, they were politically perfect and manufactured. Just like the Princess’ words would be too. 

When Lord Manderly announced their visitor's name, there followed polite applause. She approached the podium with grace and a smile, a forced one Jon was sure. 

“Thank you, Lord Manderly, for the warm welcome. Speaking of warmth, I always thought the North was cold and snowy but she’s proved me wrong. The weather is beautiful and so is the landscape. I’ve only been here a short time and what I’ve managed to see through airplane and car windows has taken my breath away.”

Jon wondered if her statement was true, or something generic used by the Royal Family for all foreign visits. But the way she delivered it was so impressive Jon could just as easily be convinced they were her own thoughts.

“I come before you today, not in any diplomatic capacity, but as a guest of the Starks. And as a woman who wishes to nurture a much friendlier connection between our two lands, who for so long have acted distant and foreign to each other despite being neighbors.”

She continued but Jon’s mind wandered, her words fading into the background. There were news cameras at the front of all the people, capturing everything from all possible angles. Reporters stood by them, anxiously accepting the Princess’ words about her excitement to see the North and her hope for a stronger friendship between the two nations. He wondered if the people watching in their homes were reacting the same way. 

A Targaryen hadn’t been in the North since the 13th century. That Targaryen was one of the hundreds of Aegon Targaryens that conquered the south, a name so lucky they recycled it. Despite being the King who refused to bend the knee, one never saw many people named Torrhen. 

The closest he'd encountered was his friend Tormund Giantsbane. A member of the Free Folk settled in the Gift who spent so much time around Castle Black he was as much a Brother as anyone else. He refused to join them because of the bad blood between the Free Folk and Night's Watch, considered it a betrayal of Wildling ideals. Jon tried to convince him to join Ygritte at The Smoking Log, but he refused. Winterfell was too far south for him.

At the end of all the formalities, the royal family set out to mingle with the citizens of White Harbor. Jon canvased the crowd on his own, shaking hands and greeting the people gathered there, a security officer not far behind. For the first time in days, his smile wasn’t forced. Something about having his feet on the ground and moving through crowds was natural to him. 

Shaking hands with people and talking with them reminded Jon of the responsibility he held. _A King should be seen by his people and the people by their King_ , he recalled Ned saying once. His father was always dropping pieces of advice into their regular conversations, he thought it was the best way to share them.

Daenerys was a few feet away also smiling and being on her best behavior. Jon couldn’t help but take interest in the way she bent down and hugged the children that were there. He knew she was an aunt but not every aunt was a good aunt. He’d met Catelyn’s sister, Lysa Arryn, on a few occasions and she scared him, even as a grown man. 

He shook another hand before his security officer was ushering him toward the fleet of cars that would take them to Winterfell. Unfortunately, he had to share a car with Her Highness. While her mood appeared to have mellowed, she was able to turn dangerous in a second. 

Once out of the city, Jon realized how much he’d missed the countryside. The beautiful green revealed after the morning frost melted away. The White Knife, the impressive river that flowed from the Lonely Hills to the Bite, followed them for most of the journey, adding to the beauty of the scene that surrounded them.

He’d never been so happy to see that particular shade of green, except once when he returned from The Wall. It was the one positive thing he could focus on as he was dragged away from the one thing that gave him a tangible sense of purpose. 

It wasn’t long until they were approaching the gates of Winterfell. The Wolfswood rose to the West, impressive with its sentinels taller than the castle walls. Jon chanced a look at the Princess as she gazed out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of her first impressions of the castle. Although she tried to hide it, he saw the glimmer in her eye as they passed under the south gate. 

They climbed out of the cars, Jon tried not to give the princess a hard time. She was looking around, all of the disinterest in her gone. Something shoved his shoulder and he turned around to find Sansa, who was motioning toward their guest. _Offer her a tour, you dolt_ , her eyes screamed. But Jon wasn’t ready to make nice yet. And a tour of his home, just the two of them, was much closer than he ever planned on getting to her for a long while.

Sansa shoved his shoulder again but Ned called Jon’s name and he thanked the Gods he avoided that bullet.

“We have the Council meeting to get to,” Ned reminded him.

Upon second thought, an inconvenient tour with the one person he couldn’t stand seemed like the much better option.

“I was about to give our new guest a tour of the castle,” Jon offered, hoping he sounded convincing.

“That’s quite alright, I can handle it. You don’t need to keep the great lords waiting,” Catelyn stated, detaching herself from Ned’s side.

Jon took a deep breath. 

As he imagined, the small council was not pleased with the fact that they’d brought home a foreign princess. He stood at his father’s side as the Lords bickered, their voices amplified by the stone walls. By the end of it all, Jon would be rubbing his temples the way his father was.

“As I’ve said before gentlemen, I have considered all options and this treaty is the only one that works. Both now and in the future,” Ned defended.

“It’s ludicrous!” Karstark bellowed.

“A betrayal to our values,” shouted Umber.

They'd even managed to make Lord Umber mad, and the Umbers were the strongest supporters of the Starks. 

The lords of the North weren’t ‘yes men’ by any means. They were direct and staunch and not afraid to be honest with their king. The only time they feared him was when he was in a wrathful mood. And Jon had only seen his father that way once, when he announced his wish for the legitimization.

Jon remembered sitting outside the great room with Robb, their ears pressed to the heavy wooden door as they did for every council meeting. However, they weren’t prepared for the news they were about to hear.

“I want to make a motion to legitimize my son Jon, so he will succeed me to the throne.”

The room erupted into shouts, in much the same manner Jon experienced now, as Jon and Robb pulled their ears away from the door to stare at each other with agape mouths and wide eyes. At only ten years old they understood the implications. Both of their lives were about to change.

Jon found Roose Bolton situated in a far corner, his face was always hard to read but his expression at this latest news was plain. Exasperation. The voices around them continued but Jon stared at Bolton. There was something else behind his usually stoic face and Jon wanted to find out what it was.

The room quieted and Jon realized his father was speaking to him. 

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Your thoughts on the treaty?”

Jon had been looking for an opportunity to reveal his true feelings on the matter but looking at his father he knew what he needed to do.

“I’m not fond of the marriage aspect of it. The Princess is … difficult and has a lot against her. But my personal life doesn’t come before the needs of our country and I stand by my father’s decision. If he believes this will protect our people, then I believe it too.”

“Has the princess agreed to this arrangement?” Lord Bolton spoke up.

“She has asked for more time to make her decision,” Ned reported.

“How much time?”

“A month, at most. Even if she takes all that long, we’ll still have plenty of time to import goods and build shelters.”

“And what if she says no? Her country has nothing to gain from this except our assimilation.”

Their voices rose again at the thought of a bent knee. Jon let his eyes wander the room of red-faced lords. He’d said his piece, there was nothing to do but wait.

The sound of a fist connecting with the long wooden table silenced everyone in the room and brought Jon’s attention back.

“We are not assimilating with the south. We keep our freedom and our ways but more importantly, we keep our people alive. Without them, the North is nothing. This meeting is adjourned.”

The Northern lords filed out, grumbling about the news. The secretary followed behind, arranging the notes from the meeting turned screaming match. 

Ned sat back down, letting out a strong cough as he did. 

“They’ll understand once everything is set,” Jon assured his father.

“I know but I doubt I’ll be able to stand their complaining while we wait,” Ned joked but his laughter turned into a cough followed by another.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked as he handed his father the water glass from the table.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured his son, “Just adjusting to the change in the air. You know what I always say-”

“Starks never fare well in the South,” they stated together.

Now more than ever, that statement rang true.


	12. the mustang kids are out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany runs with wolves

* * *

Of all the things Westeros had to offer, castles were at the top of that list. Most of the great families in the south abandoned their castles for stylish, sprawling palaces when Queen Jalaesa had her palace erected over the ruins of the Red Keep. There were still a few that were inhabited or turned into museums, but none were as impressive as the one she toured with the Queen of the North, Catelyn Stark neé Tully.

After Prince Jon and the King left them, Sansa and Catelyn offered their services to give Dany the official tour. The youngest Stark daughter, Arya, tagged along as well, though she kept a disinterested silence the whole time.

An intricate pathway of halls connected everywhere so one wouldn’t have to go outside in the winter to get from one place to another, although it was so nice outside that they walked through the courtyard to enjoy the fresh air. There were arches and vaulted ceilings everywhere, the same kind Dany imagined the Red Keep would have if it were still standing.

They’d shown her the kitchens and then the Godswood, making a point to stop by a red-leaved tree. A carved face with red eyes stared at them over a pool of dark water. A weirwood.

Dany had never seen one in real life. When the Andals came, all the way back in the 10th century, they brought their own religion, the Faith of the Seven. To them, the Weirwoods were symbols of the Old Gods, considered demons and forces of dark magic. It was no surprise they were chopped down throughout the Andal lands. But they never conquered the North.

“All promises and oaths are made before the heart tree here,” Catelyn stated.

Coronations and weddings, Dany knew. It wasn’t where she would have a ceremony but it wasn’t her decision to make.

Catelyn talked for a bit about the hot springs and the way they used the water to heat the castle in the winter. It was a system they’d never needed to fix, she claimed. The group continued on to the glass garden and passed by the crypts and the first keep, heading instead for a large building on the other side.

They stepped through a set of heavy, wooden doors and into what could only be the Great Hall. The ceiling was vaulted to support the heavy chandeliers but still low enough to keep the heat in. The stone walls accented by great arches, the shutters on the windows nestled inside were open to allow the air and light in.

“This is where all of our important feasts take place,” Catelyn explained, motioning toward the length of the hall.

Her eyes settled on the great hearth. The stonework was simple but impressive. Daenerys found the whole castle to be that way. It was so old and yet it continued to withstand harsh winters and winds and rains. She reached a hand out to feel the smooth stone surrounding a window.

“Feasts?” Dany didn’t know people still had those.

“Etiquette, as you know it, is seen as stuffy and Southern. We prefer to be loud and drink until we can’t stand. And the best part is no one cares,” Sansa laughed.

“Quiet evenings with whispers and low music and fine wines are not for North men,” Catelyn agreed.

“But, your majesty,” she addressed the queen, “You’re a Tully. Tully’s are Southern.”

As far as Dany knew, part of the air-tight treaty that required her marriage was that important families were not supposed to intermarry.

“When I met Ned I was studying in Barrowton, same as him. He was second in line for the throne and I was the first child of Hoster Tully, but I was more than happy to give up my Tully name to be his bride. We were already married when his father and brother died in a boating accident so there wasn’t much the Great Lords could do besides let us continue.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,”

“It’s not where we thought our lives would take us but it’s where we ended up. You must be exhausted, let’s find your room.”

Daenerys’ room was across the courtyard, near the old armory turned housing for the permanent court guests. Although it was certainly smaller than her apartments in both Braavos and King’s Landing, it was the closest to living in a fairytale as she would ever come.

The early evening light fell across the room from the arched window on the far side, highlighting the polished paneled walls. A four postered bed with a cream-colored duvet took up a good portion of the room and hid most of the rug on the floor, Dany figured it to be a century old. Her luggage rested around the upholstered chairs near the fireplace, the mantle expertly hidden by the same wood paneling with an intricate design etched into it. There was even a dressing screen in the corner, the silk panels painted with faded pastoral scenes.

“It’s a beautiful room,” Dany complimented.

“I’ll leave the girls with you to help you settle. Arya, don’t cause trouble.”

Dany glanced at the youngest Stark, who rolled her eyes. The Queen departed and Dany sat on the edge of the bed.

“I feel like I’ve been living out of my suitcase since I left Braavos,” she remarked.

It struck her how far away that four days felt. So much had happened. Dany felt like a shark, if she didn’t stay busy she would drown in her emotions.

“What were you doing in Braavos?” Arya asked, breaking her silence.

“School. I lived there for six years until, well…”

“Is it true that there are men who still wear swords and fight in the streets?”

“A Braavo?” Dany stood to begin unpacking. “I’ve never met one, but I’m not usually on the docks that late at night anyway. I have seen street performers do it for tourists though.”

She got through her first set of dress clothes, Sansa being gracious enough to hang them up in the armoire in the corner.

“Are you really going to marry my brother?”

 _That’s the million-dollar question, isn't it?_ Dany asked herself.

“It looks like it.”

“But you don’t love him.”

“I hardly know him,” Dany sighed, “Though, I haven’t been trying very hard to fix that.”

“So why are you agreeing to this?”

“Arya,” Sansa warned, “Sorry, she’s really overprotective of Jon.”

“I’m not overprotective. He’s like my best friend, and friends look out for each other.”

The last thing Dany wanted was an interrogation but it appeared Arya intended on bringing the heat.

“It’s fine. Your country needs help, my brother thinks I’m the best way to do that. And the Crown comes before your personal life, always.”

“He told me you’re a raging bitch.”

Danys’ hand tightened around the folded shirts she was holding. She did feel regretful about her and Jon’s first meeting. There were so many raw emotions bubbling inside her and without the proper time to process them, she reacted poorly.

“That tends to be the impression I make,” she responded, setting the shirts into a drawer.

“If I’m being honest, it’s so much easier for people to assume you’re going to be mean and cold to them than to deal with panderers and pretenders. And it hurts less when you’re criticized because you know that it’s not really you.”

Arya was young, sixteen. It was an age of life-changing events. Dany was the same age when Viserys’ died and she lost her father soon after.

“You went to university for six years and now you’re going to get married to a man you don’t know?”

“When I decided to go to college, I knew that I would never have a normal people job. I could have renounced my titles and name but without ‘Targaryen’ behind Daenerys, I would have nothing. My brother would have me blacklisted I’m sure.”

“That sounds like a harsh punishment for doing what you want,” Sansa pointed out.

“Rhaegar and I have a complicated relationship. And our family values and reputation don’t make it easier. Besides, being a Targaryen is all I know, I couldn’t be something else if I tried.”

“Well, you’ll just have to learn how to be a Stark,” Sansa confirmed as she placed a pair of shoes at the bottom of the armoire.

“I think it’ll be rather hard for a dragon to pretend to be a wolf,” Dany scoffed.

“Not if the dragon has the right wolves to teach her,” Arya offered, a smirk on her face.

Dany gave her a soft smile in acceptance of her offer. They talked of other things, Dany taking the chance to get to know the other Stark sister better. She learned that Arya loved archery and knife throwing (and was well accomplished in both fields). She wanted to be a painter and computer programmer, actress and sailor, the list went on. And she and Bran had the best pranks in the whole family. It was then that Dany decided she would need to stay on Arya’s good side.

Arya and Sansa invited her to see their rooms, located near the Great Keep. Dany agreed and finally changed out of her dress clothes. She was glad she did as the air in the courtyard was colder now.

“The sun’s going down,” Arya noted after a while.

“Then we’d better get going if we want to be there by sunset,” Sansa stated

“Bran said that everyone else is heading to the garage.”

“Tell him we’re on our way.”

“On your way where?” Dany couldn’t help herself, she was intrigued.

Sansa looked at her younger sister, who looked hesitant. It was obvious they were going somewhere but Dany hadn’t seen anything besides nature and the deserted Wintertown.

“Sansa, no.”

“She’s going to live here, she might as well know what we do for fun,” Sansa egged.

Arya glanced at her phone again, which buzzed with a notification.

“Jon’s going to be pissed.”

“Jon has been in a mood since he was born.”

More buzzing from the young princess’s phone.

“Alright, fine, but only because I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

She followed the princesses to another building on the west side of the castle with several large garage doors, all of them open. Dany couldn’t hide her surprise to see several luxury cars lined up like toys inside of a cubby. They were older models, she noticed, but not so old that they looked outdated.

“What did you expect? Horses?” Arya demanded in a joking manner, crossing her arms over her chest.

“How backward do you think we are?” Sansa joined.

Dany opened her mouth to respond when a voice from inside the garage stopped her.

“What the hell is she doing here?”

Dany’s stomach sank as an unusual anxiousness came over her. Prince Jon was leaned against a sleek, all-black Volantene sports car, a cigarette hanging from his lips. It was the most casual and relaxed she’d ever seen him look. Sweatpants, athletic sneakers, and a fitted tee. His dark curls pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t look at me. It was Sansa’s idea,” Arya threw her hands up in surrender.

“What were we supposed to do, leave her in her room all night? She’s a guest.”

Jon looked at Dany, she knew he saw how lost and out of place she looked. And she hated it.

“I don’t care, as long as she’s not in my car,” he decided.

“When did you start smoking again?” Sansa inquired as she walked past.

“In light of recent events, I’ve decided to pick up the habit.”

Without much more protest, they arranged themselves in the small fleet of cars. Dany rode with Sansa in her little red Myrish convertible, the top already down. Sansa stated that it was meant for racing but she loved it so much, she didn’t care. Talisa joined them, citing that she preferred Sansa’s driving over Robb’s.

They set out towards their destination on an old dirt road that hadn’t been maintained in years with Sansa definitely driving over the speed limit. Dany let the cool night air wash over her. She’d been in convertibles before, of course, but never going this fast. Her hair whipped around her and she could hardly see with the draft bombarding her eyes. It was unglamorous but Dany felt free. Like her troubles weren’t so close behind.

As she wrangled her hair back into the spare elastic she brought she posed a question to Sansa, “Where are we headed exactly?”

“It’s a surprise but I promise, you’re going to love it.”

She cast a glance at Talisa in the backseat, who only flashed her a sweet smile. The song from Sansa’s curated driving playlist switched and the woman’s eyes lit up, her sweet smile taking on a manic twist.

“Oo, this is my favorite song. Sansa, turn it up!”

Sansa reached down for the volume thobe and turned the already loud music higher. The thumping bassline and breathy vocals surrounding them like the background track in a movie. Talisa unbuckled her seat belt and stood up, the increased wind around her tearing at her hair and clothes as she screamed the lyrics into it.

“Dany, come dance with me,” Talisa called down.

She winced at the over-familiarity, then had to remind herself that Talisa wasn’t from royal blood. She was only trying to be nice. Dany wasn’t sure that moving around in a speeding car was a good idea, but then again, she rarely listened to reason.

She unbuckled herself and twisted around in her seat, accepting Talisa’s outstretched hand. As she did, she noted an anchor tattoo with a broken chain peeking out from under her stack of bracelets. Dany wished she could have such a visible tattoo.

She convinced herself that she would get one on her eighteenth birthday. She made an appointment with a high-end tattoo artist in the New City, formulated an excuse for being out when she got it done and even tried on every swimsuit she owned to find the right spot for the design to go. The valyrian word for dragon fire, dracarys, was inked into her hip and so far, she’d never been caught.

Dany shouted an apology to Sansa as she climbed between the front seats to stand at the back with Talisa. Her feet felt unstable on the cushioned seats but the young woman beside her kept her steady as they swayed like complete idiots against the forceful wind.

“ _I’ve been hearing all these things about you, creeping into all the things that I do. I’ve been hearing all these things about you, about you, about you_!” Talisa sang before turning to blow a kiss to Robb in the car behind them.

Dany wished she could see through the dark tinted windshield. To see both the Princes’ reactions to their recklessness.

The destination in question was a flat tract of land not too far away from Winterfell. The green grass rose up around the road as it wound around a group of trees and disappeared into the distance.

Dany was still hung up on the luxury cars. She hadn’t expected the Starks to be holy as septons but even the Targaryen’s didn’t have such nice vehicles. Dany wasn’t even allowed to drive the town cars around King’s Landing and yet these well-behaved Royals were racing around the countryside.

Talisa set out a large blanket for the spectators. Dany settled next to her while Arya and Bran flipped a coin to decide who was going first.

“What do you think of the North so far?” Talisa asked.

“It’s surprised me, that’s for sure.” Dany chuckled as she combed her fingers through her wind tangled hair. “How long have you lived here?”

“I moved here from Volantis to study at Barrowton.”

“I’ve been to Volantis, it’s a beautiful city.”

“Beautiful to visit, terrible to live in,” Talisa commented.

“I know what you mean.”

“Is King’s Landing that bad?”

“Of course. If I wanted to smell garbage and horse shit every day, I would live in the palace stables,” Dany laughed as she tied off her braid.

“Bran’s going first against Robb,” Theon announced.

Talisa rolled her eyes, “Poor Bran, Robb never loses.”

“Never?” Dany asked in disbelief.

“Never,” Theon answered, “It’s kind of annoying.”

“You’re just jealous because he always picks Jon as his co-pilot,” teased Talisa before turning her attention on Dany, "Sansa tells me you're engaged to our sweet prince."

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Will you?”

“I’m not sure. I have to make the decision by the end of the month, and I broke up with my previous… whatever we were to be here. Something is keeping me from saying yes,” Dany admitted.

“Well, Jon acts like a lone wolf but he’s a huge softy.”

“Really?” Dany asked in disbelief.

“Oh, yeah. I blame Cat for his being so sullen all the time,” Talisa lowered her voice.

“The Queen? But she acted so nice when she showed me around Winterfell today.”

“She’s been awful to Jon since I can remember. I heard she calls him ‘the constant reminder of my husband’s infidelity’. Imagine living with that woman taking her anger out on you for no reason. And I’ve seen her mad, it’s not fun.”

Dany looked over to where the two cars were waiting, Jon leaning through the window to talk to Bran. He ruffled his brother’s hair, a beaming smile on his face, before climbing back into Robb’s car.

“I had no idea,” she whispered.

She recalled the night they first met when he said that he understood what it felt like to be whispered about and called names he didn’t deserve.

“How could you? It’s not something he willingly talks about,” Theon said.

“I figured but still, it’s no way to live.”

The sound of revving engines drew their attention back to the dirt road. Sansa stood between the two cars with all the grace and dignity of a military commander. Instead of a sword, she held a small version of the Stark banners that hung on the walls of Winterfell.

As she dropped her arms, the banner fluttered with them. And they were off. As they disappeared from view in a cloud of dust. Talisa assured her that they would be back soon and that the races never took long.

And she was right. They were back before Dany knew it and, as predicted, Robb won. Arya and Bran argued about something as they approached.

“How about we let our guest have a turn?” Robb said with enough challenge in his voice that Dany considered his offer before anything else was said.

“You can go against Theon, that’s an easy win.”

Theon rolled his eyes, “Like hell. Just race with Robb and get it over with.”

“I’ll be your co-pilot,” Arya offered, “But only because I want to beat Robb.”

“I don’t know. I’m not a good driver,” Dany deflected, shaking her head lightly. Better to avoid an embarrassing scene.

“And you think any of us are?” Arya asked, her siblings joining in her laughter.

“The best way to learn to be a wolf is to run with them,” Sansa whispered in her ear.

All eyes were on Dany as though this were her final judgment.

“Alright,” she looked Robb dead in the eyes, “You’re on.”

She used Sansa’s car, although she was still apprehensive about the fact that there was no top. Arya settled into the passenger seat and was utterly engrossed in something on her phone.

Dany had to admit she was nervous. In all her years, she’d never driven a car at such high speeds. I am the blood of the dragon, she reminded herself, Dragon’s fear nothing. She took a deep breath and tightened her hands on the wheel.

Sansa returned to her place in front of them, the same Stark banner in her hands. Dany kept her eyes fixed on the fabric, revving the engine hoping to give herself more confidence.

As soon as Sansa dropped her arms, Dany’s foot turned to lead. The little car managed to stay neck and neck with the far superior sports model.

“Hey co-pilot, do you have a strategy?” she called over the noise of the wind and engines.

“I have a secret weapon but winning requires you to get in front of them first,” Arya shouted back, looking to the right where her brothers were keeping steady.

Dany cursed under her breath before pressing her foot down. They only gained an inch on the other.

“On second thought, fall back!” Arya announced.

Dany bit back the protest and took her foot off the gas. As Robb sped past, Arya commanded that Dany hang a right. 

“What, why?”

”Because I said so! Now do it!”

Dany was ashamed of the scream she let out as she wheeled the car around the sharp bend but it dissolved into a fit of laughter, her foot replacing itself on the gas pedal. It gained her a strange look from the Stark girl next to her but they were soon laughing together.

”You’re absolutely crazy,” Dany shouted.

”I know!”

They lost their race but as Robb celebrated his latest victory, Dany found that she had yet another Stark ally. Maybe she wasn’t as alone in the Northern court as she thought. 


	13. two strangers in the bright lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns of Dany's decision

* * *

The revelry of the races last night helped bring Jon a sense of normalcy. As though they’d never traveled south and all of the revelations and situations were just fever dreams. However, they shouldn’t have stayed out as late as they did. When he awoke at his habitual time, the world felt heavier. He still pulled himself away from his bed so he could finally go on his run without the threat of anyone intruding.

He stuck to his usual route, a few laps around the exterior castle walls so he could keep in sight of the stationed guards atop. It was easier than being trailed through the Wolfswood. Running alone allowed him to hold off the bigger issues plaguing his life and focus on the small details; the way his feet fell on the frost-covered grass, the rhythm of his breathing, the way the chilly morning air bit at his face.

Wanting to steer clear of the Great Keep as much as possible, he entered through the Hunter’s Gate on the west side of the castle when he finished. What awaited him was person number two on the long list of people he was trying to avoid. His father was number one at the moment.

The Princess Daenerys was seated at the little wooden table where kitchen staff took their breaks, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She looked up when he entered. 

“Good morning,” she said, her voice even.

It made Jon pause. He was expecting a little more resentment and coldness.

“I didn’t take you for an early riser,”

“I’m not usually,” she admitted, “But I try to make it a habit.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear before carefully sipping from her mug. She pulled her knees up to her chest and Jon saw the fuzzy socks patterned like tabby cat paws on her feet. Matched with her red and black flannel pajama bottoms and green Braavos Titans sweatshirt, she looked more like an absent-minded eccentric than a polished princess. She looked more approachable and human.

“Nice socks,” he nodded and leaned against the counter.

“Oh.” The princess glanced down as though she’d forgotten what pair she had on.

“Uh, thanks. Did you have a nice run?”

He furrowed his brows at her.

“You came in here sweaty and breathing hard, so I assumed that’s where you’d been,” she stated, motioning to the obvious sweat mark on the front of his shirt.

“Yeah, it was … a good run.”

A few members of the kitchen staff filed in to prepare breakfast for the rest of the court, who were starting their days too.

Jon knew it was best to get out of their way. While he ranked higher than them, they weren’t afraid to get nasty if he stood between them and their tasks. He sat in the other chair, watching as the workers busied themselves and tried not to stare too long at the foreign visitor and prince conversing.

“Why are you really up this early?”

“I can’t enjoy my coffee in the solitude of an empty kitchen at the ass crack of dawn?” she rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her statement, a light smile peeking over the edge of her mug.

Jon’s face betrayed him with the grin it displayed at her sarcastic comment.

“Actually, I’m trying to enjoy some peace and quiet before Sansa gets ahold of me. I think she’s got every minute until we leave booked.”

At that moment, a very distinct head of copper hair entered the kitchen, gazing over the tops of the workers' heads almost frantically. 

“Speak of the stranger,” she muttered, sliding her mug out of the way.

Sansa was by her side immediately, already talking about all that she had planned.

They were on the move before he knew it, on their way to the foothills of the Northern Mountains for the Midsummer celebrations. The huge festival was attended by lords and common folk alike. It had what all the Northerners loved, tradition. Traditional music, food, clothing, and even traditional dancers. Although they were professionals hired by the festival planners, that never stopped a few drunken lords from joining in. 

After her bonding experience with the Starks last night, Daenerys was fitting right in. Jon hadn’t seen the Princess Daenerys since their run in that morning but her and Sansa’s laughter could be heard throughout the castle. The reason for their jovialness was evident when they’d gathered to leave. Sansa had turned the woman into her fashion doll.

The festival and its focus on tradition meant that Sansa got to break out the traditional dress. The woolen skirt she wore was starched white with lines of grey and pale green crisscrossing over it, the colors of House Stark. A sash of the same fabric crossing over her blouse and secured at her waist with a brooch the shape of the Stark direwolf.

She’d given their guest nearly the same treatment. She’d dug a similar length wool skirt out of somewhere, but the one Daenerys wore was a deep blue and devoid of any lines of other colors. A safe bet, since it wouldn’t be confused with any other House’s pattern. Her white hair was braided in its usual way but they were woven into a different pattern, forming a shape akin to a heart. If it weren’t for her light hair and odd-colored eyes, she would look every bit a true Northerner.

Jon was assigned the task of escorting their guest around the festival and ensuring all introductions went smoothly. He asked Sansa to stick close by just in case, she was a natural at turning an awkward situation out. But they found that her services were needed. Only kind pleasantries were exchanged so far and Daenerys appeared to be charming everyone she met with ease. 

As they were leaving yet another Lord and Lady behind, Daenerys took note of a young girl passing around wreaths made of flowers. When the young girl stopped in front of them, the Princess immediately bent down to meet her at eye level.

“Hello,” Daenerys greeted.

The young girl curtseyed and wordlessly held one of her creations out to the woman in front of her. A wreath of small blue flowers interspersed with white and green, shiny blue ribbons binding the whole thing together.

They weren’t too far from the dancers, Jon noticed. The sounds of pipes and fiddles drifting toward them. 

“For me?”

The young girl nodded again, holding the flowers out further. Daenerys took it from the girl with delicate hands and examined it.

“Did you make this?”

Nod.

“It’s very beautiful but I’m afraid I don’t know how to wear it,” Daenerys frowned.

Jon feared for a second that she was going to return the wreath to the little girl. But she surprised him yet again.

“I would be honored if you put it on for me,” she smiled and gracefully bowed her head.

The little girl placed the ring of flowers atop Daenerys’ braids, her round face growing red.

“Thank you very much.”

The little girl curtseyed again and ran off to find her mother. Jon was floored by this woman, who at one moment was as poisonous as a snake and yet as gentle as a cloud the next.

Similar interactions followed wherever they went. While Jon held onto his belief that she was playing a part that she’d rehearsed so well it was believable, he found his stubborn grasp slipping with each person they encountered.

Jon heard the music change and watched as Sansa grabbed Daenerys’ hand.

“Come on,” Sansa said excitedly, “I want to dance.”

As she was dragged away, Daenerys looked back over her shoulder, a nervous smile on her face. At least there wouldn’t be any introductions for a while. 

It was later when he found himself talking with the patriarch of Clan Norrey, a tankard of summer ale in his hand. The old reels of the North filled his ears thanks to their proximity to the band. He chanced a glance at the dancers. The professionals were on break, so it was just common folk and lords swinging each other around with the sun burning behind them.

During one of the passes, a flash of white hair caught his eye. He watched as Daenerys was spun by Sansa before switching directions and ending up in the arms of a large man. Jon recognized him as Lord Umber. Who was oddly graceful despite his size, age, and drunkenness. There were words exchanged between them and whatever the Princess said had the GreatJon roaring in laughter before she was spun off. 

The music ended with a flourish and the dancers all bowed to each other, applause and cheers rising into the air. 

“She sure is something, that Southern girl.” Old Norrey commented.

“You have no idea,” Jon replied.

“What would a city girl like her want to come up here for?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself,” he lied.

“I hate to say it but I hope she sticks around.”

Another song started up, the laughter of the festival-goers rising above the music as they started dancing again. 

“What are you doing standing here talking to me for? You should be out there dancing-”

“I’m not a dancer,”

“-and wooing the next Queen of the North.”

Jon wondered how Old Norrey would react if he told him the future queen was already spinning herself dizzy with the other ladies. And that she was the southern girl he was so impressed with. The old man would probably have a heart attack. Daenerys visiting the North was one thing, but marrying it was a whole other beast.

Jon was about to make another remark about their guest, when she bounded up to him, breathless from the dancing.

“I need to talk to you,” she announced, gravity in her breathless tone.

“Okay…”

She looked at Norrey and back to Jon, “Alone, preferably.”

Jon nodded despite his confusion and led her away from the crowded space, towards the edges of the festival. With fewer people and less activity, it was more quiet and calm. As they walked, Jon noted the sturdy boots she wore. 

They walked in silence for a while, Daenerys’ gaze fixed straight ahead. She’d taken the ring of flowers from her head, holding it in her hands. He could tell she was trying not to fidget with it. Finally, she took a deep breath.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” she started.

Jon was taken aback, “For?”

“To quote you, being a raging bitch.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and found she was doing the same.

“I was overwhelmed with everything and I took it out on the wrong person. You didn’t deserve that. And I’d like to apologize for being so stubborn.”

“Really?”

They paused their stroll by one of the several bonfires burning across the stretch of land. The flickering orange light washed over Daenerys’ features, the blank canvas of her hair taking on the lively color.

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that,” she looked at him for a moment.

Sensing her hesitation, Jon said, “Go on.”

“I know I’ve only been here a few days and there’s so much more to see of the North but it’s beautiful here. I’ve spent the last few years running around the world, trying to get away from the Southern Court, when this was right next door the whole time.”

She looked around the landscape before she started walking again.

“Everyone keeps asking me if I’m actually going to marry you,” she commented.

“Everyone?”

“Well, the Queen, Arya, Theon, Talisa. And my answer was always, I don’t know. This whole treaty ordeal is tricky and my brother will make it happen one way or another, but I thought I could figure a way out. But sometime last night, I started thinking, what would happen if I just bit the bullet? What would happen if I dropped my weapons and stopped fighting?”

“What are you saying?”

“The North is the only place I’ve felt like no one’s watching my every move. No one cares if I swear or talk too loud or slide down the hallways in my socks!”

“Wait, you weren’t allowed to do that?”

“Technically yes. My handlers didn’t want me to feel like I had too many rules to follow so everything was just _highly discouraged_ ,” she informed in a stuffy accent Jon imagined belonged to one of her ‘handlers’.

“Got it. So you never did it?”

“Oh, I did it once. Then I got lectured and was too scared to do it again.”

Too scared? Daenerys didn’t seem like someone who was scared of anything.

“I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

“You were talking about the alliance,” Jon reminded her. 

“Right. I wanted to tell you that I’m saying yes.” she took a deep breath. “I’m agreeing to the engagement.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what to say,”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’ll tell your father and my brother tomorrow morning. ”

Her voice lowered as a group of girls about Sansa’s age passed them by. They whispered excitedly once they thought they were out of earshot.

“The common folk love you,” he commented.

“For now. Tomorrow, when the alcohol has worn off and the news is released they’ll turn on me. And your court already hates me. No matter how nice their words, I can see their true intentions in their eyes. They dislike me for the same reasons I am loved. Beauty, kindness, and the splendor of a foreign land.”

“But you’re not doing it for the people of the court,”

“Correct. I’m doing it for your people, who have charmed me beyond imagination.”

It wasn’t how Jon imagined a proposal might go. There was no romance to it, though the ambiance was certainly there. No ring, no ‘will you marry me’. He wished he could breathe easier but the previous weight on his chest had only been replaced with another. He’d done what he needed to do and was headed into unknown territory.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” he asked.

“Of course I am. I want to do what’s right, even if it means being married to you for the rest of my life.”

She nudged him with her shoulder, grinning at her joke.

“Thank you for that,” he said, returning her attitude.

“Oh lighten up!”

“Daenerys-”

“And please, call me Dany, all my friends do.”


	14. we can't make any promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany learns just how stressful wedding planning can be

* * *

When Dany was younger, she planned her future wedding with as much fever and gusto as a young princess with every resource at her disposal could. It would take place in the Great Sept of Baelor, obviously, as that was where all royal weddings took place. She would marry a wealthy foreign diplomat, or even better, a foreign prince. The guest list would be a mile long, with even more people attending the reception afterward. Above all else, she remembered wanting one of those ridiculous many-tiered cakes and a hideous confection of tulle and lace for a dress. 

Of course, as Dany got older, the wedding daydreams were replaced with visions of a career and increasingly less domesticity. If nuptials ever presented themselves, she would go the quick and easy route of elopement. Anything else was a frilly fantasy. 

Except now, those things were tangible and real. And the only thing that survived of her childhood wedding plans was the foreign prince, the only thing she didn’t have a say in. 

The Queen commandeered an old study near Dany’s guest room to be their official wedding planning headquarters. The whole space transformed and lost in the madness of planning two royal weddings in the span of a month.

In order for all the kinks to be worked out on the paperwork and numbers part of the treaty, Dany and Jon needed to be married as soon as possible. On top of that, both families were convinced they could sell the out-of-the-blue engagement as a whirlwind, love at first sight romance. Which meant they were stuck with a very limited window to get everything planned to the high expectations of the most important wedding of the decade. Maybe even the century. 

Catelyn sat opposite of her with Elia and the Palace Event Planner, their electronic forms attentive on the screens. The Royal Event Planner from the Stark side was going over more options for color schemes. 

They’d ruled out Targaryen red and black unanimously and Dany shot down both the mauve and dusty pink options. She’d had enough of those colors in her youth. Varys always insisted she wear pink to everything important, as all unmarried Targaryen ladies did for centuries. The last thing Dany wanted was to deal with it on an already stressful, terrifying day.

The planner pressed a button on her little remote and another color palette appeared. 

“This one consists of laurel green, timberwolf, and a neutral grey,” she reported before continuing about the reasoning behind the colors. 

“Too much green,” Dany said with only slight disinterest, reaching for a ring of fabric swatches near her.

“The ceremony is taking place in Godswood, the last thing we need is more green.” Catelyn agreed.

As Dany ran her hands over the pieces of cloth, she noticed a familiar color. 

“What about this one?”

She held the burgundy swatch up so everyone in the meeting room could see, including the two virtual guests. Deeper than Targaryen red and verging on purple, it was the same color as the heart-shaped leaves of the Weirwood tree.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Catelyn cooed.

Elia voiced her approval at the same time.

“Could you create a palette around this and bring it tomorrow?”

“I can have it to you tonight, Your Highness.” She collected the sample and made a note.

“Thank you. And there’s no rush,” Dany smiled.

Once the meetings were over she hoped to avoid anything marriage-related. She looked at the long list they still needed to cover. _At least we’re getting somewhere_. 

“Next item of business is wedding party assignments,” the planner continued.

“Since this marriage involves someone who is first in line for the throne, candidates for bridesmaids and page boys are selected by proximity to the royal family as well as status within the court. Here is a list of possible candidates.”

A list of potential bridal attendants landed in front of her. Rhaenys and Aegon were at the top of their respective categories along with Sansa, Arya, and Bran but the rest of the list was names she was unfamiliar with. 

“Lyanna Mormont would be a good choice. The Mormont’s have always been strong supporters of House Stark and her grandfather, Jeor Mormont, is currently Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Choosing her would be a statement about your commitment to the Night’s Watch, who defend our Northern Borders.” Catelyn suggested.

Dany made a star by the name and surveyed the rest; Karstark, Maderley, Tallheart. She wanted Missandei as her maid of honor but knew better than to suggest it. It wasn’t her wedding. Technically, it was a transaction between the heir and the useful spare. Everything had to follow tradition.

She expected there to be limits on what liberties could be taken. Rhaegar and Elia’s wedding was much the same way, everything decided for them and all they had to do was show up and say the words. It all looked sparkling and magical to fourteen-year-old Dany as she watched from the audience with the other bridesmaids. 

Another list was set in front of her but this time she knew the names. They were the great houses of Baratheon, Tyrell, Arryn, and Tully. There would be at least one bridal attendant from each region and with the wedding between Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon, there was a spot open. Dany marked another star by Myrcella’s name and continued to survey them.

“We don’t have to have them all decided today, but within the next few days is preferable. We still have to send out the invitations and notify the choices for bridal attendants,” the planner reminded the room as Dany placed the selective list into the binder holding all of the wedding plans.

The mockup of the new couple’s cipher was tucked inside the cover, an intertwined D and J with a crown over it. It was strange to see her initials with someone else’s. 

According to Catelyn, a traditional Northern royal wedding ceremony included a processional, presentation of a sword, exchanging of vows and rings, changing of the bride's cloak, and recessional. 

“I’m sure we have a maiden’s cloak somewhere in this palace. They were in fashion once,” Elia stated, “I’ll have someone start looking as soon possible. Unless Dany wants to commission a new one but that would tie up the seamstresses.”

“I was actually thinking we could exclude the changing of the cloak,” Dany spoke up.

The look she gained from the room wasn’t what she would describe as pleased. 

“It’s been performed at weddings for centuries,” Catelyn argued.

“Well, then, what if we altered it. A veil, cloak, and dress are a lot of layers but if we substituted something else. Like…”

To be honest, Dany hadn’t thought her suggestion through and as she frantically racked her brain for an example, she remembered Sansa’s festival outfit and the particular piece of sparkle that caught her eye.

“A brooch.”

“A brooch, Your Highness?” the planner questioned.

“Yes.”

“I think it’s a lovely idea. There are certainly more dragon pins in our collection than cloaks,” Elia offered, being the only obvious supporter of Dany in the room at the moment.

“We would need to discuss it further,” Catelyn sighed, writing something down.

It was the first time one of Dany’s suggestions garnered such a reaction from Catelyn and she was especially grateful she hadn’t suggested Missandei be in the wedding party.

“Now, there is one more tradition that we would like to keep. The first dance is always performed as a choreographed reel.”

“Choreography?” Dany bleated.

“Dany, you’ve taken dance lessons,” Elia tried to reassure her.

“When I was twelve. And something tells me this is a completely different wheelhouse than ballet and ballroom.”

Catelyn spoke up, “Not entirely but it does require a few sessions to get everything smooth. Unless you want to do away with that too.”

The way the Queen’s eyes settled on her was a warning and a challenge. As if speaking against her would bring the whole wrath of the North upon Dany. 

She straightened and tilted her chin a fraction, “I haven’t made my mind up yet.”

The wedding planner cleared her throat. Dany took that as her sign to let the moment pass and return to the task at hand. 

“We usually broadcast the ceremony but given the circumstances, we’ve decided against it,” the planner informed, “but there will be a photographer there to capture everything.”

At least she wouldn’t have to deal with bloggers analyzing every angle and glance. 

Her phone buzzed next to her and she turned it over out of curiosity. The notification expanded even though Dany didn’t want it to, revealing the news headline about her engagement. Her throat tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut as she took a deep breath. For most of the morning, she’d been able to sit through the planning session with a detached sense of reality, like she was watching someone else flip through books of swatches and check items off lists. 

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

“Could you all excuse me for a moment?”

Dany stood and walked from the room with as much control as she could. As soon as the door closed her pace quickened. She wasn’t sure where she was headed but the more distance she put between herself and the wedding business the better she would feel. It took a flight of stairs and several turns before she was satisfied, only to realize she was absolutely lost.

With only one tour of a place as massive as Winterfell, there was no way Dany wasn’t going to get turned around. The sounds of a conversation came from a room down the hall. As she approached the details of the exchange became clear.

“I mean, this woman hasn’t had a single long term relationship in her life and suddenly she’s up and engaged to a man with a much higher rank after a week.”

She knew at once what they were talking about and rolled her eyes. Jon wasn’t _that_ much higher ranked. 

The door was open when she reached the room, so she leaned against the frame. It was a smoking lounge and the conversation was coming from an old radio. Jon sat in one of the leather chairs, engaging in the act that the room was meant for.

“I’ll tell you what it is, it’s southern imperialism.”

The second person laughed.

“You shouldn’t listen to this shit,” she warned, a hint of teasing in her voice, “It’ll rot your brain.”

When Jon looked up, she stepped into the room, crossing to sit next to the radio as well. The room had a masculine energy about it that Dany was smitten with. Dark wood and leather, the stone around the fireplace and the sleek bear pelt on the shining wood floor, just one of the many hunting trophies on display with old weapons.

“A King should always listen to what his people have to say,” he remarked.

“To genuine criticism, but this is just conspiracy and gross speculation.”

The radio personality continued, “We’re allowing this foreign woman access to the ear of the most important person in our country. Now, what do you think she’s gonna do with that kind of power?”

“Push her agenda.”

“Exactly, her _southern_ agenda. She may have had people fooled at the Midsummer festival with that traditional dress stunt, but I was not impressed.”

She scoffed. The outfit wasn’t meant to be a PR stunt. Sansa suggested it and Dany agreed but they failed to consider that Dany was actually a nice person who wasn’t putting on a front.

And as for pushing her southern agenda, Dany wished they knew how much she loathed her brother and refused to impart his plans on anyone. Especially after the text message she’d received from him the other night, demanding her to hurry up and seal the deal. It was then she figured out how to work the whole ugly mess to her advantage. 

No matter where in the world she ran, she still had to answer to her brother and the Crown. And renouncing her titles was a hassle with too many negative repercussions, including Rhaegar’s thinly veiled threat of blacklisting her if she did. But in his desperate attempt to settle her down, he was handing her an escape plan on a silver platter. 

It wasn’t the sort of liberation Dany was looking for but it was the only kind she was going to get. And if it weren’t for the hysteria surrounding the weddings, she might have counted down the days as she did before her departure to university, with giddy anticipation.

As she brought her attention back to the radio personalities and their outlandish theories, she let herself sink into the club chair. It was much more comfortable than the wooden one she sat in all morning and she was past caring if she wrinkled her business casual ensemble.

“While I’m with you on imperialism, I think there is a more obvious reason they’re engaged so soon and that is Princess Daenerys’ wardrobe. If you didn’t know, the Targaryen’s hosted their annual charity gala and the dress she wore was … putting a lot on display, to put it delicately.”

“I know what you’re talking about. Is there not a dress code at that court? Not that it matters, I mean, we all know about her nip slip-”

 _We’re still on that?_ She supposed the news cycle in the North was slower, allowing people like the two morons on the radio to focus their attention on something the South already considered old news. That would take some getting used to.

“You know, they said that picture was doctored,”

“Yeah right. At least Prince Jon knows what he’s getting in bed because there is a popular interview with her ex-lover Khal Drogo, he compared her to-”

“Could you turn it off, please,” Dany asked, not wanting to hear what came next.

“Gladly,” Jon answered.

She reached for the cigarette case without a second thought and slid one free, Jon lit it for her.

“So, tell me the truth. Are you really a spy for your brother?”

“What?” she choked on her laugh, not expecting that particular statement.

“The seductress of the south sent her to infiltrate the royal family and sell our secrets to foreign enemies,” he said with humor in his voice. 

“I can assure you I’m not. Whatever nefarious plans my brother has at work, he hasn’t included me in them. Not that I’d want to be a part of his scheming.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m not,” Dany laughed.

“Promise?”

“I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros, and Lady of Dragonstone, promise that I am telling the truth. And when I make promises, I don’t break them.”

She lifted her cigarette back to her lips.

“I thought you were supposed to be in top-secret wedding meetings all day.”

“We were in the middle of discussing the ceremonies and I needed to take a breather.”

“Let me guess, tradition?”

Dany groaned, “I’m going to be sick of that word by the time this is all over.”

“You get used to it.”

She wasn’t so sure. Her whole life was dictated by that word, and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon. But while the Northern traditions were a thorn in her side at the moment, 

She considered him for a moment, “You should come to them.”

“I don’t think I’d be of any help.”

“Yes, you would. Right now, it’s me against Her Majesty and as much as we both dread it, it’s still _our_ wedding.”

“What did you do to make Catelyn dislike you?”

“I merely suggested we re-evaluate a certain element of the ceremony and she acted like I insulted her entire life’s work.”

“As far as she’s concerned you did. Besides, if I showed up, there would be two people in the room she hates.”

“Exactly! Maybe she won’t even come. But it’s not her fault. There are so many rules about these weddings and she’s just trying to make sure everything goes smoothly. Now that I’m thinking about it, it would be more helpful if you weren’t first in line for the throne.”

“Not fair. That is all I have going for me,” he complained.

“Oh, whatever,” exclaimed Dany as she rearranged herself in the chair, folding her legs underneath her so she could lean on the arm and face Jon full on.

“You expect me to believe that you’re oblivious to the goo-goo eyes that get thrown at you everywhere you go?”

He threw up his hands in surrender.

“Oh my gods.” Dany shook her head.

“Okay, answer me this, if I wasn’t heir to a vast country who you happened to be engaged to and you met me at a bar, what would you do?”

Dany looked him up and down, trying to look like she was seriously considering his question. She already knew her answer, she’d admitted it to herself that night in the greenhouse. _I wouldn’t hesitate to add you to my list_. But hookups and marriage were different things with a common denominator and she didn’t want her answer misunderstood.

“Well?” he asked.

“Now I don’t want to answer it,”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at her.

A voice from the doorway called, “Your Highness”.

They both turned their heads. It was Ser Jorah and Dany sighed in relief even though she knew she was being dragged back into the wedding fray.

“Her Majesty wanted me to let you know the florist is here.”

Dany nodded and snuffed the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray. When she stood, she saw that her pants and blouse weren’t wrinkled and was relieved. 

“Have fun,” Jon said as she headed for the door.

Despite her best efforts, a chuckle and smile escaped her.

“I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Update Day! 
> 
> Classes have started again and my quarantine brain honestly can't handle the fact that I have deadlines again. Oops.
> 
> Also, I created a writing tumblr where I post sneak-peaks and other fun things related to my writing projects! To celebrate this update, I posted an excerpt from a new WIP based on Taylor Swift's "Folklore" (Game of Thrones related, of course)
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/classicbriewrites


	15. where to begin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a trip to the wall, Jon catches up with his brothers from the Night's Watch and makes a kind gesture, helping him learn more about Daenerys than he thought he would.

* * *

“I’m sure Rhaenys will be fine, it’s Aegon I’m worried about. He’s a little chatterbox.”

The bits of dialogue between Dany and her conference call reached Jon’s ears as he stared out the window and watched the countryside slip past. They were on their way to another Northern landmark, just the two of them. Their Majesties thought it was a good way for the public to see them acting like a real couple, even though it was far from the truth.

Despite the impending publicity stunt, Dany was seemingly playful. After a week of wedding planning, she was probably ecstatic to get away from it all. And understandably so. He attended a few of the planning sessions, specifically the cake tasting and menu planning. Dany surprised him by taking his opinions into consideration and even Catelyn appeared to tolerate his presence. 

They also had their first dance lesson which only reinforced the fact that Jon had two left feet. Luckily, it wasn't a standard ballroom dance so they were both spared any crushed toes. Although there were a few instances of hands missing their mark and ending up in the other’s face. They could hardly look at each other the next day without cracked smiles and stifled laughter. Much to the dismay of the Great Wedding Committee who wanted to discuss stationary and rings. 

Jon felt guilty after that particular meeting. Even though they were discussing wedding rings, he realized he’d never given Dany a proper engagement ring. She’d taken to wearing a ring of her mother’s on her finger so no one would get suspicious about the lack of a _real_ proposal. Dany said people wouldn’t question the legitimacy of their engagement if a ring was involved. So Jon employed the help of Arya and Sansa, who were both detrimental in getting Dany’s ring size on the sly and helping him choose from the modest selection of jewels. They found a perfect choice after an hour of looking, it didn’t even need to be reset. He would’ve given it to her there in the car but it wouldn’t matter. The weather took a nasty dip and it was always cold on the wall so they would be wearing light gloves.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Dany cried, breaking Jon from his reverie.

“Finally done?”

“Deadzone.” she let her phone fall dramatically onto the seat between them and leaned her head on the window.

Jon chuckled. They had crossed into the Gift, a swath of land set aside for the Night’s Watch specifically and notorious for its spotty reception. In another hour they would be at Castle Black. He would by lying if he said he wasn’t anxious to be back. The reminder of the incident and his subsequent indefinite leave was still fresh in his mind.

Even though he trained and studied like the other recruits, he was never meant to be a ranger. The job was too dangerous for the Prince of the North so Lord Commander Mormont requested Jon be his personal steward. While he still craved the adventure of the rangings, he was willing to concede. However, there was one time he’d gotten a taste of what he could’ve had if he weren’t so damned important.

Shadow Unit was down a man and with no reports of wildling activity in the area, they let Jon ride out with them. The route they patrolled was clear with no sign of any wildling activity. That was how it usually went. In his four years at the Wall the only times there were actually run-ins with the tribes that lived there got too close or Mormont sent the ranging parties further north.

The clear mile between the forest edge and the Wall was in their sights, bringing with it the promise of warmth and rest. The night was still and unnaturally dark and cold, the men in the unit were just as wary of the atmosphere as their mounts. The Haunted Forest was overgrown and wild, making it impossible for bulky vehicles to navigate. And going on foot was worse for obvious reasons so the Watch kept horses. 

A rustling in the trees brought their procession to a halt. With no wind to shake the branches, Jon knew at once that they shouldn’t have stopped. One of the men went to radio in the activity when dark shapes descended on the front and rear and chaos ensued. Their formation broke into a mess of nervous horses and shouting men. On the narrow trail there was no way to break through, they were fish in a barrel. 

Somehow, in the darkness and confusion, Jon was tossed from his saddle. He landed on the frozen ground and avoided being trampled by his own horse. With no cover and no clear way out, Jon ducked into the trees. He managed to conceal himself and was about to try to contact Castle Black when he was tackled, his radio skidding across the snow and out of his reach. He managed to get his forearms between the attacker and his face but not before his crude knife slashed at his eye. 

The shout that left Jon filled the still forest as he forced his assailant off. Jon flipped himself over and tried to crawl to his radio. A searing, fire erupted in his leg and he knew he was a victim to the primitive tool his attacker had. As though it was second nature, Jon drew his gun and aimed. 

Even in the dark, he could feel the eyes of his opponent. Jon realized there was a human staring down the barrel of his gun. It was a brief thought, fleeting. Neither of them moved. There was no time to overthink it and without any more consideration, Jon pulled the trigger. 

He realized he was shaking. Not because he felt underprepared to handle what happened but because he didn’t want to face what came next.

The afternoon brought a meeting with Lord Commander Mormont. He wasn’t in command of Shadow Unit, nor was he leading the ranging so Jon had no idea why the Lord Commander would want to talk with him about the incident. At least that’s what he told himself to keep the dreading feeling away. Mormont was going to tell him his time with the Night’s Watch was over and he was going back to Winterfell.

“You wished to see me, Lord Commander?” Jon asked as he stepped through the door.

“Have a seat Jon.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to be ready to leave the moment the Old Bear said the words but the ache in his leg was still too bothersome to ignore.

“I’m sure you know that your father was alerted about the attack last night. Once he heard of your involvement and subsequent injury he commanded that you be placed on leave indefinitely and sent back to Winterfell.”

There it was. “What did you say to him?”

Mormont sighed, “I tried to convince him to let you stay but my explanation of the events did little to sway him.”

“I can’t go back there.” Jon shook his head.

He knew he would return eventually but he hadn’t planned on it being so soon.

“Neither of us has much choice in the matter,” the Old Bear reminded him, “We must all answer to the crown.”

At court, he felt like everything was handed to him. Even his claim to the throne was presented like a gift on his name day. While any other man would’ve taken advantage of it, Jon came to resent it. He found it to be one of the many reasons for the disdain surrounding him. It didn’t help that bastards were considered treacherous, even a legitimized one.

Serving with the Night’s Watch gave him the chance to earn something. Even if it was the least exciting of the positions, he put in the time and effort to achieve it. Hearing his name called and reciting the word beneath the grove of heart trees was the most gratifying experience. 

Jon found himself in much the same position again, though this time it was a woman the Crown placed into his life. Like an invitation for a week-long hunting trip on Bear Island only significantly more permanent and harder to refuse. And they were both real people with their own wants and needs but some selfish pricks higher than them decided that none of that mattered; reducing him and Dany to mere pawns in the ever-evolving game.

The view outside the window changed with the first signs of Mole’s Town, several roofs and chimney stacks sticking out of the ground. To help protect against the cold homes were built underground and the public buildings were connected by tunnels. In more recent years, people began constructing their houses into the sides of man-made hills. It seemed the only structure to be seen from the road was Castle Black, standing stoic and dark against the gleaming ice of the Wall.

Once a simple fortification of towers and scattered rooms, the years saw it transform from ancient keep to proper military base. Not that there was a great war to be expected from the folk beyond the wall, Castle Black was really a form of discouragement from trying to sneak through the wall.

“Seven hells,” Dany muttered as they passed through the gates, “That is a lot of ice.”

“Wait until you see the view from the top,” Jon said.

“We’re actually going up there?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t be a trip to the Wall without it.”

There was a media frenzy in the courtyard. As part of the agreement between the press and the Royal Family, Jon and Dany would give them enough time for a photo op as they were greeted by the Lord Commander, then they expected peace and quiet for the day and a half they were there. 

Jon was surprised they were willing to accept such a quick and easy deal since it was the first public sighting of the newly engaged royals. A pair who were supposedly so in love, they decided they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together in the span of a week. Luckily, decorum helped them avoid any public displays of affection and bed-sharing as their accommodations provided two separate rooms.

Brother’s of the Night’s Watch paused along the walkways to view the flashing cameras and the two people all the fuss was over. Jon didn’t recognize any of the faces. He doubted he would, a lot could change in two years. He at least expected to see Edd Tollett walking alongside the Lord Commander, complaining Mormont’s ear off. But the Lord Commander arrived alone, dressed in the ceremonial blacks with the bear of Mormont set among the various pins and medals.

“Your Highnesses, it is an honor to have you at Castle Black.”

The camera flashes increased as Jon shook Mormont’s hand and they posed for a good minute afterward, smiling and acting graciously. The press was ushered out of the courtyard and Mormont dropped the pretense.

“So, this is the young lady you’ve decided to spend the rest of your life with?” Mormont sizing up Dany, “A spectacular choice.”

Jon saw her smug smile. When she noticed he was looking at her, she nudged him with her shoulder.

The loud, high-spirited sounds that accompanied a returning patrol unit drew his attention away. Ghost Unit, he could tell. The two friends he made in his time at the wall, Grenn and Pyp, were in that group. 

“Well if it isn’t Lord Snow!” one of them called.

He shook his head. The nickname was meant as a mean tease and it stuck. Jon should’ve corrected them, reminded the men that he deserved the respect of his rank, but it brought back a wave of nostalgia he was grateful for.

“Aurochs and Pyp-squeak,” he greeted in the same mocking tone.

“We were about to head to Tormund’s if you wanted to join us,” offered Grenn, clapping Jon on the back.

“The lady can come too.”

Pyp nodded toward Dany, who stood by Jon’s side.

She laughed, “I would love to but one of us should stay for the tour from the Lord Commander.”

“You don’t mind if I go?”

“Of course not. You’ve probably seen enough of the place anyway.”

Jon thanked her, which she waved off in her casual way before leaving with Mormont.

Tormund’s little pub was one of the busiest attractions in the underground village of Mole’s Town. The atmosphere was humid and hot with all the bodies stuffed in the small space. When Jon inquired about the increase in people, his brothers laughed.

“It’s because of you and your sweetheart. As soon as news broke about your visit up here they all decided to make a weekend trip just to catch sight of you two.” Grenn informed. 

Jon noticed there were quite a few people wandering around up top. They were probably hoping to get close enough to the base but would have to wait until the photos were released. For once the strict policy on royal/press policy. 

The group found an empty table somewhere, Edd ended up joining them later. He wished he could enjoy their company like he used to but they kept asking him about the wedding and Dany and he found himself dodging questions, unable to relax.

“Can I come to the wedding?”

“You can come to the reception.”

“What if I’m your supporter?”

“Robb’s already got the job, Pyp.”

“Okay but what if-”

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to throttle you,” Edd threatened, as tired of the wedding talk as Jon was.

He managed to flip the conversation back to them by asking Grenn about his possible promotion. Grenn launched into a long-winded rant, with added talking points by Pyp, about the placement of new recruits and new training requirements. All was going well until Tormund found out they were at his establishment.

Jon heard his warhorn of a voice call ‘Crow!’ from across the packed room. There was more grey in his orange hair than Jon remembered but that didn’t stop him from plucking the Prince out of his seat and nearly crushing him in a hug.

“I thought I’d seen the last of you when they shipped you back south. What the hells are you doing up here?”

“He and his fiancée are here to see the wall.”

“Fiancée? Well, what are you waiting for Crow, show me a picture of this special woman,” Tormund demanded.

Jon pulled out his phone to find a picture of Dany and realized that he had none on his camera roll. He tried to search the internet for one but Tormund spotted him.

“You don’t have a picture of her in your phone?”

“They’ve only known each other a week,” Pyp chimed in.

“A week? Gods you work fast,” echoed Tormund in disbelief.

“It’s a long story that I’d rather not get into,” he tried to defend.

He wasn’t allowed to reveal the exact nature of his and Dany’s relationship, no matter how far-fetched it seemed to other people.

Edd broke in with, “I think we know why Lord Snow fell so fast.”

The tone in his voice reminded Jon of someone who was about to tell a bad joke. When he gave Edd a questioning look, he shrugged.

“When we found out who you were engaged to we did some digging.”

“The deep web is a wonderful, wonderful place,” came Pyp’s addition.

“The situation is much more complicated than that.”

Jon tried to sit down but Tormund pulled him back up and threw an arm around his shoulders.

“At least he’s found himself a girl to share his time with. Unlike the lot of you, sitting in my pub every weekend in the same spot and leaving together. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re more like to warm each other’s beds.”

Groans and protests went up from the group, mostly accusing Tormund of similar bachelor behavior. Jon patted Tormund’s shoulder, relieved that the conversation was off of him. 

When he returned to Castle Black with Grenn and Pyp, the sun had dipped below the wall, the sky making its nightly shift from orange to pink to purple to black and casting the southern half of the wall in shadow. The breeze had a harsher bite to it and Jon shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. His gloved fingers brushed against something small and odd-shaped. The ring. He’d almost forgotten about it.

In a streak of luck, Dany was crossing the courtyard with the Lord Commander. He called out to her and she stopped to look at him.

“We were about to go up top,” she said, “Everyone says now is the best time.”

Jon doubted it. The air would be colder and the wind rougher but there was something he needed to do.

“I can take you up.”

“Are you sure? Lord Commander Mormont said he would do it.”

“I’m sure.”

The Old Bear backed off and let Jon take Dany’s arm.

Despite the creaking and rattling from the winch, it was an unbearably silent ride. One that left Jon with nothing to do but fiddle with the piece of jewelry in his pocket and watch Dany readjust her scarf from the millionth time.

No matter how much he’d seen it during his four years at the Wall, the view from the top still impressed him, especially then. The horizon burned orange, lighting the soft clouds yellow and making the purple-blue of the sky look electric. The light reflected off the trees and light snow of the lands beyond the wall.

“The Lord Commander told me there are still people who live out there. What will they do when winter comes?”

“They’ve survived the cold and snow for thousands of years, they can handle one more.”

Silence settled between them again. 

“You were right. It is beautiful.”

Dany tucked her chin into her scarf as the wind picked up, swirling her loose hair around. She gathered it in her hands and wrestled it under her scarf. A few pieces managed to escape and as she turned to look at him they brushed across her face. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold and her eyes were starting to water. Jon lost his nerve.

It was too romantic, he decided. There was nothing he wanted less than to seem like he was trying to woo her. Not to mention with their security officers present and the possibility of a watchman passing by, it was too public. 

“We should head back down,” he offered.

She agreed and they descended, heading directly for their guest quarters. The pair of bedrooms with a common space between was fully furnished and a welcome retreat from the oncoming cold. There was even a fire burning in the fireplace. Castle Black had a modern furnace system but nothing truly beat the cold like a roaring fire.

They parted to peel off their outerwear and change. Jon waited a good few minutes, sitting on the edge of the bed, examining the ring and trying to get his nerve back. He finally stood, walked into the living space and said, “Hey Dany, can you come here for a second.”

She appeared in the doorway. An oversized brown flannel hung from her shoulders, dwarfing her small frame, and she wore a pair of hot pink fuzzy socks on her feet.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, heading straight for the sofa in front of the fire.

Dany pulled her legs up beside her and twisted so she could see him. Her hair had a frizz to it, he noted. The light from behind caught in it, surrounding her make-up free face in a halo of gold.

“Yes,” he answered without thinking, “I mean, no… Yes and no.”

Her eyebrows raised as she eyed him. 

Jon moved to sit on the sofa with her, “When we talked about wedding rings this week, I realized that I forgot an important part of engagements.”

He realized the error he’d made in waiting until then. While the scene on the Wall was romantic in a trope riddled teen romance movie way, the low light and Jon and Dany in their sleepwear was much more intimate. And Jon cursed himself for it.

“Uh, it’s fine? I’m not really sure which part of the engagement you’re referring to.”

“That would be the proposal. I mean, you deserve a _real_ one.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, that’s a shame because I have this…” Jon held the ring up.

“Oh, I’m fine with the one I’ve been wearing. You didn’t have to-”

“I know.” Without another moment’s hesitation he continued, “Daenerys Stormborn the First of House Targaryen, Princess Royal of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady of Dragonstone, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

A laugh escaped her, good-natured and light, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Considering the wedding is in three weeks, I figured I’d better squeeze it in at some point.”

“Talisa was right, you are such a sap.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll be taking this back.” he started to put the ring back in his pocket but Dany reached for it.

“No, no, no, you proposed and I said yes, the ring is a fair exchange.”

She still had on her mother’s ring, so she took it off and put it on her other hand.

“Here,” Jon offered, taking her hand and sliding the real engagement ring onto her finger.

It wasn’t anything extravagant or glamorous, a simple kite-shaped diamond with flecks through it (something Sansa called a ‘salt-and-pepper diamond’) set in silver. The shape reminded Jon of the tiara Dany wore to the charity gala, as well as the dragon sigil of her house.

“It’s a beautiful ring,” she said with a soft smile, still twisting and turning her hand to watch it catch the light.

“It was my Aunt Lyanna’s.”

“What happened to her?”

“She renounced her title. After Uncle Brandon died the succession skipped to my father. She was never meant for the princess life anyway, it was too stifling for her.”

“Where is she now?”

“We don’t know. Sansa thinks she fell in love with a Myrish merchant and took off to be with him in Essos.”

Dany’s face took on a thoughtful look, she dropped her hand to her lap and looked to the flames.

“I was engaged once.”

“Really?” 

Jon was shocked. As far as he was concerned, Dany had never been in a serious relationship. She just flitted from one man to another.

“I was fresh off my first semester of university and it was my first time in Meereen. The Grand Masters invited me to a gala of theirs and the Dothraki _Khal_ happened to be there. We hit it off right away, although he didn’t speak a word of the common tongue except ‘no’. Ser Jorah had to translate everything.

“When I returned to Meereen the next summer, he invited me to _Vaes Dothrak_ and I spent more time with him than I should have. It wasn’t a proper proposal, there was nothing planned about it. No ring, no kneeling, no pretty words. It was a spur of the moment and I said yes.”

“What happened?”

“Rhaegar found out. I haven’t seen or heard from Drogo since unless you count that tell-all article.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“Why? It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anybody’s fault but my own.” There was a bitterness in her voice.

“I guess I… have sympathy for you,” Jon admitted.

“Well thank you for that. And for the ring.”

She paused, like she was contemplating something more, then got up and disappeared into her room. Jon gazed at the closed door. He sighed and departed for his own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things
> 
> 1\. Though I only mention him once in this chapter, Lil Aegon gives me Meelo from "Legend of Korra" vibes. Rhaenys also gives me Ikki vibes as well. 
> 
> 2\. Forgive any military missteps, I finished this chapter at 5 am and I personally don't care for the military industrial complex. Also this is a fantasy world and therefore my playground.
> 
> 3\. This is 4000 words long and officially the longest chapter I've written! (there will probably be longer as we continue on)
> 
> 4\. Anonymous commenting is turned back on! But I have enabled comment moderation
> 
> 5\. I fixed the part in chapter 12 where I mentioned Arya wanted to join the military. I saw a post about how Arya wanted to be lots of different things, not just a knight and I cursed myself a little for falling into that pitfall so I changed it to a cute little list of occupations.


	16. smiling for miles in pink dresses and high heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the engagement party, Dany makes an enemy, gains a friend, and gets a surprise

* * *

Dany could hear the conversations happening in the other room and dreaded what awaited her there. She looked in the mirror again, hoping that she could find another thing to fix so she could delay her departure from the safe space. She went to tuck her hair behind her ear and noticed the shining rock decorating her finger.

The ladies would all be asking about it. Especially if they noticed that it was different than the one she’d been wearing. None of the ladies at court made an effort to get too close to Dany, keeping a safe distance from the foreigner in their midst, but they still saw things and whispered. If anyone asked, Dany would say it was being resized. That would slake their thirst for new rumors but it would start fresh ones too. Anything to keep them entertained she supposed.

In the mirror, she could see the ivory dress bag containing her wedding gown. The whole thing had arrived from White Harbor with the designer that morning for a fitting. The wedding planner reached out to as many Westerosi designers as she could and they raced to send in their portfolios. After looking through them all, Dany selected a northern designer named Jeyne Poole who worked for a well-known fashion house in Norvos. Her submission was an unused design for an upcoming bridal collection.

Dany cast it aside at first, claiming it wasn’t her style, but when she looked at the sketch again she saw potential. She and Jeyne worked together to achieve what Dany now considered her dream dress. If she was only going to be married once she at least wanted the dress to be perfect. 

Hanging next to the monstrous bag were two dress options for the engagement party. One of ivory tulle and the other of champagne chiffon. They were both modest lengths and clearly meant to invoke the word ‘bride’ without being too obvious. She chose the champagne dress as it was darker and featured a thick sash of lavender silk around the waist, then she swept her hair into a simple yet elegant knot at the nape of her neck.

Styling her hair on the go was a trick from princess training she found increasingly useful. All of her appointments were scheduled one after the other, she barely had time to breathe between them let alone manage the various costume changes. Dany preferred it that way. If she kept herself distracted she wouldn’t think about anything else but the task at hand.

She slid the last pin into place and glanced at the tiara sitting in its case, surrounded by red velvet. A simple band with a fringe of raised silver points glittering with little gems.The sparkling piece wasn’t hers, it was on loan from the Queen’s personal collection. Catelyn wore it to her engagement celebration and wedding and claimed she would be honored if Dany wore it too. 

With a gentle hand, she grazed her fingertips over the uneven points before lifting the tiara from its cushioned nest. The fringe sparkled in the moody lighting of the room and Dany realized it was meant to represent icicles. Without any blue-tinted stones, it looked more like dozens of little swords. It gave Dany a fierce look once placed atop her head and she was grateful for it. She needed strength now more than ever.

“Dany?”

Jon stood in the doorway, dressed in the semi-formal attire required of the official engagement party. She noticed his eyes flicker to the large dress bag.

“Is this the dress?”

“Yes,” she answered before turning back to adjust the tiara.

She watched, partly in horror, as Jon reached for the bag.

“You can’t look at it!” she whirled around and intercepted him.

“I didn’t know you were superstitious.”

“I’m not. I’d just rather not tempt fate.” _And risk fucking things up more than I already have_.

“Okay, I won’t look at it. Are you ready to go? I don’t think our guests will appreciate it much if the couple of the hour is late.”

She adjusted the high neck of her dress and fought the familiar urge to run. She promised herself no more running.

Accepting Jon’s arm, he escorted her to the neighboring room. They paused outside the heavy door as their names were announced. She tried not to tighten her grip on his arm when it hit her that there were no rules regarding PDA this time. And people were expecting the young love-birds to act like they actually liked each other. And while they had come to an understanding between each other, Dany wouldn’t label them as friends.

The ring caught her eye again. A small smile escaping her at the reminder of the unnecessary proposal. It was such a sweet thought, no ulterior motive and he didn’t make a big deal out of it. She doubted her deserving of a ring with so much sentimental value but she saw at once why Jon picked it. It was geometric and different, simple yet powerful. 

Dany swallowed her stubbornness, it was time for her to step up to the plate. She slid her hand to plant it with Jon’s. She didn’t intertwine their fingers. There was no need to, it wasn’t that kind of gesture. There were no words between them, only smiles as the doors opened and the attendants politely applauded.

For an event on a joyous occasion, there was a bit of somberness to it. There were no real decorations but a banquet table of finger foods and several members of the waitstaff meandering around with trays of champagne. Dany wanted to grab one but she and Jon were ushered to the head of the room before she had a chance.

They would accept congratulations from a long line of courtiers, organized by precedent. There were the dukes of large swatches of land and the lords of castles and strongholds. Down to the smaller, ceremonial titles of Baronet and Earl and the knighted citizen who happened to be at court that day. Someone was announcing their official titles and names but Dany was already on autopilot. Sentiments like ‘thank you’ and ‘we’re so glad you could be here’ slipped past her lips with unconscious ease, her mind barely registering the actual words anyone was saying. 

There was an art to it, she supposed, being able to shake hands and smile and be grateful while her mind was somewhere else. She’d employed the same trick half a million times at the required state functions and once or twice at college parties. 

As the Duke and Duchess they were addressing took their leave, Jon’s posture grew tense. It was enough to make Dany shift back to manual. 

“His Grace, Roose Bolton, Duke of The Weeping Water and Lord of the Dreadfort.”

A man with eyes as cold and unforgiving as winter itself stood before them. The pink shield-shaped pin on his lapel glinted, showing off the red blood drops and the shape of man without skin. His gaze chilled Dany’s blood and she stepped closer to Jon. 

“Your Highnesses, my congratulations on such an advantageous engagement.”

Despite the room buzzing with the sounds of smaller conversations, it seemed eerily quiet as Bolton spoke. His voice soft and lacking the boisterous quality the other courtiers possessed. It made his compliment sound more like a nasty piece of gossip he shouldn’t be spreading.

“And my best wishes on a long and happy marriage.”

From the tone of his voice, Dany knew he was praying for exactly the opposite. She reinforced her smile and wrapped her hand around Jon’s arm in what she hoped was perceived as a loving, possessive manner. 

“Thank you for your kind words, your Grace, we are wishing for much the same.”

She looked up at Jon in affirmation. Breaking out of the odd state, he grinned at Dany with much the same false pretense as her hand on his arm. The Duke’s face remained in its unimpressed scowl as he left them to face the next people in line.

Dany had half the heart to ask if they could take a break but the assembly of attendants was so long there was no time. She took a deep breath and tried to shake it off. It was no different than the few occasions she’d had the displeasure of dealing with Cersei Lannister, whose mannerisms were as fake as her waistline. At least Dany wouldn’t have to deal with that woman on a regular basis anymore.

Once they’d made it through the long and impressive list of courtiers, she and Jon split up to meander through the room and socialize on a more personal level. Dany was about to raid the food table when she was tapped on the shoulder. Expecting it to be Catelyn about to scold her manners, she was surprised to find a lady of the court she hadn’t yet been introduced to.

She was taller than Dany even though she wasn’t in heels and wearing a simple wrap dress of forest green. The lady looked like she was meant to be gliding down the runway at a couture show instead of couped up at court. 

“Your Highness, I wanted to compliment you on the engagement and your beautiful dress.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Dany was a little put-off. None of the court ladies made an effort to befriend her and she wasn’t sure if the lady’s intention was good. Dany smiled anyway, if they kept talking she would figure it out. 

“Princess Sansa was telling me about your charity in Essos and I got curious.”

“It’s not _my_ charity really, it’s a non-profit that was willing to let me work with them.”

“And what do you do there?”

“Mostly photo ops but I love interacting with the children and I help make the food for the shelters. It drives my family insane because we’re not supposed to champion causes that concern real people.”

“That’s pointless. How are you supposed to help the people of your country if you’re not allowed to?”

“Exactly! Gods, I’m so glad there are more people with common sense here.”

“I’m Dacey Mormont.” she extended her long arm out to Dany.

“Nice to meet you, Dacey.”

“I’d love to introduce you to some of the other ladies. They’ll be nicer if I’m with you,” she promised.

Dany agreed and allowed herself to be led to a group of other ladies. She noticed Wynafryd Manderly among them. After she was introduced to the ladies, one of them blurted, “Can we see it?”

She knew what they meant but was still taken aback.

“Of course,” she stuttered out, offering her hand. 

They gathered around and gaped at the stone, whispering about how it was Princess Lyanna’s and how pretty it was. Dany detected a little jealousy but that was to be expected. Any of them would kill to be a princess. Hell, they would commit war crimes to be queen and all Dany had to do was be born with the right name. 

The ladies did seem too bothered by it though. They asked her questions about where she’d traveled and what schooling in Essos was like. They were vastly more interested in Dany, for when she tried to change the subject to one of them, it somehow came right back to her. 

Dany felt bad that she’d assumed the Northern court was anything like the one she hailed from. These women were genuine as far as she could tell, asking her about her opinions on fashion and even current events.

As Dacey was telling Dany about Bear Island, she looked past Dany’s shoulder and smiled.

“Your Highness, I apologize for stealing your fiancée but she’s been so busy planning that damn wedding, the ladies and I haven’t had a chance to talk to her.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon shrugged.

Dacey started talking to him about something but Dany was distracted by the feeling of a pair of eyes on her. It was Roose Bolton. 

“What is his problem?” Dany blurted and immediately regretted it.

Dacey pursed her lips, “I’ll let you handle that one, Your Highness.”

As Dany’s new friend slipped away, Jon followed her gaze.

“Bolton’s had a stick up his ass since I can’t remember when. I don’t think I have to explain why he’s not pleased about this whole ordeal.”

“He’s more than welcome to join the club,” Dany muttered and took a sip of her champagne.

Jon scoffed, “I hope you’re watching how much of that you drink.”

“I am. Why?”

“Something tells me you would be sharing some strong words with His Grace if you were drunk enough.”

She hummed in agreement, “More than words. First, it was the condescending attitude and now he can’t keep his eyes to himself.”

“He’s just playing mind games, trying to get under your skin. Ignore it.”

Dany nodded and took another sip of champagne, finding comfort in the way the fizz felt on her tongue. She looked at the other members of the court and noticed they all had sigil pins somewhere on their person.

“What is Duke Bolton’s sigil?”

“What?”

“His sigil pin had a man without skin, is that a metaphor?”

“Quite the opposite,” Jon began, “A long time ago, when the Boltons styled themselves the Red Kings, they practiced flaying. They used the skins as decoration in the Dreadfort and some accounts say they wore them as cloaks, but they don’t like to talk about that part. It’s illegal now, of course, but they’re still mad about it.”

“They were kings once. Any man that had to give up that kind of power would carry a grudge so strong it became generational.”

Jon chuckled, “I suppose your right.”

The herald banged his staff and the volume in the room dropped, everyone turning to see who was late to the party. Dany couldn’t believe someone missed it but she was still unfamiliar with all the titleholders at court.

“Her Majesty, Queen Elia of House Martell. Accompanied by Her Royal Highness, Crowned Princess Rhaenys II and His Highness, Grand Prince Aegon III of House Targaryen. And Miss Missandei of Naath.”

Dany’s heart swelled and she had to hand her glass to Jon so she wouldn’t drop it as the doors opened. She pushed through the crowd, forgetting that she was supposed to keep her princess composure. Dany felt a tear slip down her cheek as she threw her arms around her best friend.

“I thought you weren’t coming until the day of the wedding,” she gushed to Missy’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to but Galazza’s cashing in a favor you owe her.” Missy patted the press badge on the neckline of her dress.

Dany knew all too well what that meant so she promised Missandei they would talk later as she gave Elia a quick squeeze.

“Aunt Dany, you look so pretty!” Rhaenys gaped from beside Elia.

“Do I?” Dany carefully dabbed at her eyes to make sure they were dry.

“You always do,” agreed Aegon.

“Even when I look like this?”

Dany stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes, her nephew bursting into giggles. Jon came up beside her and she quickly returned her face back to normal.

“Rhae, Aegon, I want to introduce you to Jon. He’s going to be your, uh, uncle,”

For some reason, the phrase felt strange leaving her mouth. Bringing him into the family meant adding another title to his already long list. Prince, future king, son, brother, soon-to-be husband, and uncle; and somewhere down the line a father.

Gods, she hadn’t even thought about kids. She knew they were necessary and expected for the heir to a throne but hopefully it was far down the line for them. Dany didn’t even know if she was completely ready for kids. She wanted them of course, she’d known since a newborn Rhaenys was placed into her arms. 

She remembered her sister-in-law’s nervousness about all the pressure to start having kids. Elia was twenty-two when she and Rhaegar were married and twenty-four when she had Rhaenys. So Dany wasn’t too far behind in the heir-making game but she couldn’t believe she would have to join it soon. 

Rhaenys and Aegon were wary of Jon, Sansa was the only Stark they formally met, and even then they were reserved but once he got down on their level the two were as talkative as ever. If Jon and Dany had the same luck as Rhaegar and Elia, maybe kids wouldn’t be a challenge. She needed to take her mind off its current course so she turned her attention to Missy and Galazza’s favor.

“She heard you’re not letting the press cover the Northern wedding so, in exchange for saving your ass a few weeks ago, she wants the rights to document the whole thing. It’s going to be the first story in her new publication _The Green Grace_. She’s branching out.”

“We already made a statement about barring the press from the ceremony. If I let Galazza in, I’ll have to let everyone in. And you know I don’t want that.”

“Galazza figured you’d say that and that’s why she sent me. We figured it would be easier if it was somebody already invited to the wedding.”

“You majored in Public Relations, why does she have you playing field journalist?”

“It’s just this one assignment. And all she needs are my notes and some photos so she can hand them off to her real writers. Although, she would love it if you would let a couple, more qualified, people in.”

Dany sighed, “I’ll talk to everyone tomorrow and see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves, a wedding is coming! 
> 
> We're only three chapters away (and four from one of my personal favorite chapters). After attending a wedding this weekend, I'm all inspired and fired up to keep writing. Maybe this time I'll actually work ahead instead of staying up late to finish chapters. 
> 
> If you're wondering what real-world tiara inspired Dany's loaner, it's the Baden Fringe, which is pictured in the mood board.
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed it! Leave a comment if you feel compelled.


	17. there's something lonesome about you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before a wedding is always a busy time

* * *

The Godswood of Winterfell was always magical. Something about the overgrowth of the plants gave it a mystical quality and enhanced that it was a holy place. It was surrounded by activity and noise but remained quiet and peaceful, wholly removed from the frenetic atmosphere of the castle. Jon found himself there often, listening to the soft bubbling of the hot spring and the light birdsong. He’d spend hours there if he could but somebody always discovered him and the moment was ruined. 

Now, instead of the uninterrupted nature scene, there were a hundred or so chairs arranged in front of the heart tree to form a long aisle lined with white and wine-colored flowers and twinkling lights. The decorators even wove them around the tree branches, letting the strings dangle off and wave like the branches of a willow. At the beginning of each row of chairs stood an arch, laden with flowers and greenery. There wasn’t an altar or arbor, the Weirwood provided all of that, its red leaves stretched over the place they would stand. 

On top of the ethereal decor, the excited energy from everyone gathered for the rehearsal ceremony created a palpable buzz. Jon hoped it was enough to cover up his apprehension. He refused to be nervous, it wasn’t any different than all the state appearances and functions he participated in. But there was still reason to be hesitant.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Dany’s voice called from the back of the seating area, “The final fitting took longer than expected.”

The wedding planner assured her it was okay as Dany charged up the aisle. When she reached the front, a bundle of fabric was pushed into her arms and she settled into the seat next to Jon.

“Is that a bride’s cloak?”  
“Yes,” she sighed, “I had to make a compromise with Her Majesty so I could repay a favor I owe someone.”

He assumed she meant the single photographer that prowled around the area of the Godswood, whose obnoxious camera clicks interrupted the soft bird song and whispers around them.

Dany unfolded the bundle and swept the black cloak around her shoulders, fastening the clasp with ease. Jon was a little pleased to see it was lined with fur.

“You’ll be glad to have it tomorrow,” he commented.

“Why? It feels fine right now.”

“There’s going to be a cold snap.”

The forecast didn’t predict for anything other than a rain shower overnight but Jon could tell. The drizzle would turn to flurries and the snow would stick around long enough for the wedding ceremony around noon. At least it would be ice and snow instead of muddy and damp.

“Let me guess, you can feel it in your bones?”

“Something like that.”

“Doctors say that’s a sign of arthritis.”

Jon splayed his hands out in front of him and then turned them so Dany could see, “They look fine to me. Would you like to assess them, considering you have a wealth of medical knowledge?”

“Mm, I’ll pass, thank you.”

He shrugged and dropped his hands but unconsciously popped the joints. He noticed Dany doing the same thing.

“Alright everyone, let’s get started,” the wedding planner said, “We will be running through the whole ceremony so everything goes smoothly tomorrow. After the processional we will have the opening remarks and invocation from His Highness, Benjen Stark, a reading from both sets of Their Majesties, then the unity promise and changing of the bride’s cloak, then we’ll exchange vows and rings, and finally the recessional. It should be noted that the vows and rings section will only be mentioned.”

They were given the rundown of the processional order and dismissed to their starting positions. Dany retreated back down the aisle with Sansa and Arya right behind her, wrangling a gaggle of high born children. A stirring, melancholy melody started from the string quartet behind the seating and his father and Catelyn started down the aisle. They were followed by Elia, escorted by Bran as her husband would be responsible for leading Dany.

As was a royal wedding custom, the bridesmaids and pageboys followed the bride down the aisle, so Dany walked before them. With her brother absent, she forged down the lengthy walkway by herself. She was far enough away that she looked small and lonely despite the bodies behind her.

That Dany reminded him of the version he’d first met, the outer shell of Daenerys that the media observed and critiqued. Jon would’ve assumed she used her solitary nature as a form of elitism. Keeping people at an arm’s length and seeming to float above them just to show she was better. But he knew her at least a little bit better than that and was starting to understand it.

Being alone was easier for Dany. He noticed that long and lengthy social events weighed on her. She still smiled and made conversation, like any good Princess was taught, but she always slipped away quietly when things settled down. It made sense then, why she skipped the gala to swim in fountains.

As she neared, Jon saw that instead of a bouquet she had a sword in her hands. It took him by surprise until he remembered that she was supposed to have it. The presentation of a weapon the groom could use to defend the bride was meant to further reinforce the idea that she was under his protection. Rheagar would carry it tomorrow but, for now, it was hers. And paired with the stoic look on her face, Dany looked like a painting of a warrior queen Jon saw at a museum opening once. A romanticized rendering of a woman standing against the backdrop of a dark, furious storm. Her dress and hair caught in the forceful gales before the skies opened up, the sword held tight against her chest. 

Then the breeze picked up, tousling Dany’s hair and fluttering the white silk of her rehearsal dress. And Jon wondered if the Gods pulled that warrior out of her frame and set her walking down the path toward him. 

“You picked a fine young woman, Jon,” Uncle Benjen remarked.

There weren’t priests for the old gods so the wedding committee picked the closest thing they had to a holy man. It helped that Uncle Benjen was ordained by the state too.

“We’re just lucky she hasn’t sprinted back down the aisle yet.”

Jon elbowed Robb in the ribs, “That’s because this is a rehearsal, dumbass.”

“You never know.”

But they did know and there was no chance anyone was allowed to get cold feet. 

Finally, Dany was standing at his side, her stoic expression as they turned to face Uncle Benjen. As he started in on his opening remarks, Dany set the tip of the scabbard into the ground and rested her crossed wrists on the pommel. 

The invocation started when Uncle Benjen started asking the Gods to watch over the ceremony and provide a number of things to the couple about to be married. It was during this that Dany leaned toward him and whispered,

“So, do you have a huge bachelor party planned for after this?”

“You mean like a stag party?”

“Yes, that.”

Jon hadn’t wanted to tell her about the custom practiced in the North so it would come as a surprise. But he figured Dany wasn’t a big fan of those, so he decided to tell her. The ceremony moved on to the readings.

“Actually, we have this… tradition-” the look she gave him was full of annoyance- “where the groom has to steal their intended from their family. Otherwise, he isn’t worthy of her.”

“I think we’re far past needing to worry about ‘worthiness’ but continue.”

“And we get out of the castle for a while.”

“Just us?” she raised an eyebrow.

“And the security detail.”

“Alright, I’m in. Just one more question.”

“Yeah?”

“Am I supposed to put up a fight?” the smirk on her face was full of mischief.

“You can if you want to,” Jon agreed.

“I’m in.”

Uncle Benjen stated it was time for the unity promise and motioned to Dany.

“If you plan to steal me, then you’ll probably need this.”

She offered the sword to Jon, the modestly embellished scabbard glinting as he took it. A hand-and-a-half, a bastard sword. A small smile bloomed on his face, he wondered if Dany knew it was called that. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, a little worn from use, and the silver pommel contained an egg-shaped fire opal that shifted between orange and green and red. He pulled the sword out of the scabbard enough to reveal the swirling texture of the blade. Valyrian steel, the technique of making it was long lost to the world. Owning one was rare as the Targaryens kept them in a private collection. 

House Stark had one in their possession, the greatsword Ice. It was gifted to them by the original dragon lords of Valyria who settled on Dragonstone, before Aegon’s ambitious conquest and the doom. The greatsword was only used in the coronation ceremony of a new King of the North now but it was still considered to pass from king to king as though they still used it in battle.

It would belong to Jon, without question. But there was a time when it couldn’t be. He couldn’t remember if he really wanted the sword and he certainly didn't expect it. But what young, bastard boy doesn’t want to rise above his station by some miraculous means?

“Does it have a name? All the best swords have names.” Jon prompted, wondering if Dany knew any of the history behind the weapon.

“If it did, we don’t have any record of it. It’s one that we loan out to museums but I’ve always been fond of it so I figured it could find a home here.”

There was something wistful about her tone, as though she wasn’t really talking about the sword.

Jon handed the sword to Robb, who placed the Stark bride’s cloak in his hands. He turned back to Dany and she removed her Targaryen one. The direwolf embroidered in pearls and jet gave the cloak weight and her shoulders shifted trying to distribute it and keep the clasp from her throat.

“May you each bring your best self to the other. May you each bring commitment as well as faith to the task set before you. May you maintain enduring respect and trust. May all who follow your lives have cause often to rejoice, not only in happiness but also in your brave and generous living,” Uncle Benjen recited.

Jon couldn’t think of a more perfect blessing for a marriage forged in politics. There was no reflection of love, merely neutral intent and factors that would make any business relationship successful. 

They had to go through the recessional, Dany and Jon retreating down the aisle to the playful cheers of their family. Luckily, the wedding planner deemed the single run through acceptable but there was still one more rehearsal waiting for the happy couple.

The tables of the Great Hall were pushed to the sides, as they would be after the dinner portion of the reception, to create a dancing space. Above them hung the banners of every house in the North, from Karstark to Reed, and the decorators hadn’t spared the hall in their descent upon the castle. The same flowers and lights were strung through the heavy chandeliers, similar bunches near sconces and on window panes.

The choreographer gave them last-minute reminders before the music started. An old fiddle, guitar, and pipe ballad at a walking speed, perfectly paced for two arguably amateur dancers but a tad melancholy for a wedding celebration.

“Are you ready for this?” Dany asked over the music as they circled each other.

“As ready as I can be. You?”

“We’ll see.”

The first pass of steps was easy and they stayed far enough away to avoid injury. The next part brought them closer until Jon offered his hands and Dany accepted them. They both had to focus harder to keep from making mistakes. However, their little blunders still happened. 

The instructor once explained the symbolism behind the steps and their order. Something about the development of his and Dany’s relationship but also the expected camaraderie between North and South. Jon didn’t know if any of the wedding guests would pick up on it, they would be too drunk to really care, and all he could focus on was how complicated the steps were despite the slow pace of the song.

Jon second-guessed his hand placement and missed the intended mark entirely, colliding with Dany’s rib cage. She stumbled but recovered.

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to remember what piece of the overly complex choreography came next.

She chuckled and shrugged it off, “If it boosts your confidence, you’re better than a good portion of the partners I’ve danced with at court.” 

She looked up at him, inclining her chin in the slightest hint of movement. Their bodies were pressed close together as they moved back and forth across the floor, allowing them to lower their voices. 

“I highly doubt that.”

“Not all noblemen are light on their feet. I’ve had my fair share of toes and fingers crushed.”

“Fingers?”

“It’s a long story,” she dismissed.

“One for tonight?”

“If the conversation leads us there.”

They quieted as they came closer to the end of the dance, the series of steps and passes and small hops requiring their full attention if they wanted to get through it. Dany stepped on Jon’s foot when she was behind the music. 

The apologizing started again but was cut off when Jon wrapped his arm securely around her waist for a small lift, foreheads bent close to offset the gravity. Dany’s cheeks were a deeper shade of pink when he set her down but whether that was from the dance or something else he couldn’t tell.

They entered the last section of the dance, a series of spins and twirls ending with the two facing each other, palms touching. Instead of the expected applause, they were celebrated by a groan from the choreographer.

They received a sum of all their mistakes, accented by looks of disappointment, but Jon and Dany fell into their regular fit of stifled laughter that came with the hilarious thought of broken toes and misplaced hands. They would run it two more times before they were allowed to leave the Great Hall, tired and sweating.

Jon found Robb and Theon in the smoking lounge with a large group of people fussing over a pile of foam swords. Leftovers from someone’s birthday party long ago but they would serve their purpose. 

“We’re going to have to split into teams, Dany doesn’t have enough family for it to be any fun,” Robb said as Jon approached.

“Sansa and I will be with her and the Southern Queen tonight,” offered Arya as she poked her sister with the soft weapon. 

Sansa knocked it away but when Arya stuck her again, she gripped the foam blade and pulled it from the young troublemaker.

“And I plan to be there too,” Rhaegar Targaryen, who arrived at Winterfell only an hour ago, pitched in.

“Just don’t give Dany a sword. She’d love to knock me senseless right about now.”

“I will make no such promises,” Jon answered, not wanting to deny Dany the satisfaction of taking her anger out on her brother in a relatively harmless way.

After double-checking the transportation and destination arrangements and sending Sansa and Arya off to ‘guard’ Dany, Jon was able to relax into some light drinking with the men who joined him. They lounged around with their glasses and laughed at stupid jokes they had heard a million times before. He was already feeling a little more like himself, ready to run through the halls of the ancient castle wielding a foam sword like a damned idiot. It wasn’t long before they were ready to begin that night’s fun.

Jon stood, raised his glass and said, “Alright boys, let’s go steal my bride.”

Cheers and laughter rose up as Jon drained the contents of his glass and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being a trained dancer and writing dancing is actually a lot harder than I originally thought it would be.
> 
> Fun fact: while moving around to the song I choose for the Northern first dance, to get a feel for it and what I wanted the choreography to look like, I stepped on a nefarious piece of glass hidden in my carpet. Fun times.
> 
> T- 1 chapter until wedding!


	18. the dark happenings of my lot hide your shining face from me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While partaking in an ancient tradition, Dany lets her heart get the better of her

* * *

Dany sank down into the fancy chair by the fireplace, a worn book in her hands. A nice non-fiction novel about the ancient art forms of Valyria. After the day she had, it felt nice to be in her comfy clothes. She only hoped her book could take her mind off the events of the next day, which loomed over the horizon like fast approaching dark clouds. She tucked her feet up and opened to the chapter she’d left off on.

 _The lost art of Valyrian fire dancing, which was previously thought to only serve a purpose in religious ceremonies and festivals, was actually a popular court performance._ Dany faced her own popular court performance tomorrow. That stupid dance. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own that she loathed it. The fact of the matter was that Jon was a _really_ good dancer, even if he didn’t want to admit it, and nearly every accident was her fault. If she could just let herself relax into it she might have better luck but her deep-rooted sense of independence and innate stubbornness made it a very hard feat. 

_A likely subject of secular fire dance was forbidden lovers because of the passionate nature of those relationships._ Her eyes fell on the picture by the text, a fragment of pottery showing two dancers embracing.

Dany bit her lip to stop the small, girlish grin threatening to spread across her face as she thought of Jon’s hand secured around her waist. _No_ , she shook away the intrusive thought, _we’re not doing this_. If there was ever a worse time to let her immature fantasies of love and romance float to the surface, it was then. 

A knock at the door saved Dany from the disastrous derailment of her train of thought. She pressed her cool fingers against her cheeks to dull the inappropriate blush. It was probably the royal party planner with last-minute wedding duties. Maybe, if she sat still enough and didn’t open the door, they would go away. The person knocked again, more rushed this time and Dany groaned as she closed her book with more force than necessary.

“I’m coming!” she barked, marching across the floor.

When she opened the door, it was not the wedding planner, but a host of familiar faces smiling at her. Talisa pushed past her and into the room, setting down the stuff they brought and giving her a quick hello. Dany’s bristling mood dissolved at once. _Gods, I_ really _need to get my mind out of the gutter._

“We know you were hoping for a more extravagant bachelorette party but we’re hoping a good old-fashioned movie night will do,” Elia smiled as she held up the pizza box she carried.

“Self-care edition!” Missy held up a small basket of the basics.

“And this is the only time Arya will do girly stuff with me,” Sansa muttered as she passed by Dany.

“I heard that,” the younger Stark called, “Don’t let her lie to you, I do girly stuff all the time.”

Dany wasn’t sure how true that was but she didn’t question it as she lowered herself to the floor with them. 

“Are you okay? You look a little flushed,” Elia questioned, examining her sister-in-law’s face.

“I’m fine. Just sat too close to the fire.” Dany’s cheeks grew hotter with her lie.

“I know what you mean. I can never get warm enough here. But that’s just my Dornish blood.”

After a short debate, they decided on one of the less cheesy films available on Dany’s laptop. It just so happened to be the palace movie night staple of the disguised Rhoynish prince in the Meereneese fighting pits, with enough action and romance to satisfy everyone present. Even Dany didn’t want to watch something too mushy. 

They got to the scene where the Slaver’s daughter figured out the identity of the prince when Dany started in on her usual rant about the inaccuracies of the _tokar_ worn by the noblewoman. She’d seen the historical garments up close and while it was very common to wear a two-piece variation in modern times, no Ghiscari woman would’ve worn one in the time when the movie took place.

Elia groaned, “Dany, you’re ruining the magic.”

“No, I’m not. Historical and cultural authenticity is very important.” 

“The actress playing the slaver’s daughter is also very Westeros-centric for a woman from Slaver’s Bay,” Missandei joined in, snickering at Elia’s annoyed expression.

“You two are no fun.”

Dany was about to offer her rebuttal about the significance of representation on screen when a commotion in the hall drew her attention. The shouting and rapid footsteps were growing closer.

“Is that what I think it is?” Dany asked, looking at Arya and Sansa.

They nodded in response. She got up and went to retrieve her coat and gloves from wherever she left them after the trip to the Wall. Jon was right about the dip in temperature. When she stole a glance outside, there was already a light flurry starting up. The door flung open as Dany was pulling on her boots.

Framed in the doorway was the valiant Prince of the North with Robb and Theon. An unladylike snort escaped her when she spied the foam swords and plastic shields, accompanied by a sincere smile when she made eye contact with Jon. He and his men swept into the room, swiping at her companions. 

After getting jabbed in the chest, Sansa dramatically gripped her imaginary wound and sunk to the floor. Talisa met her ill fate at the hands of Robb, the two of them giggling the whole time. Elia and Missy effectively yielded but Arya put up a good fight until all weapons were on her, resulting in her theatrical passing. And finally, it was Jon and Dany face to face. Her heart was pounding even though she’d hardly moved.

“You’re not going to fight me?” 

There was humor in his voice but it was a genuine question. He offered his unoccupied hand, playfulness in his stormy eyes. 

“Not this time,” she answered, accepting his gesture.

With a chorus of whooping from Robb and Theon, Jon towed her out of the room. She managed to grab Sansa’s discarded prop before they were sprinting down the hall. Before they could descend a flight of stairs, Jon put his arm out to stop her. 

The hall was silent, save for their breathing.

“What’s wrong?” Dany questioned, whispering even though it was all a game.

“We haven’t run into your brother yet.”

“Rheagar’s here?”

“Arrived at least two hours ago.”

Dany hummed in acceptance of the fact. He could’ve at least come and said hello.

They started down the carpeted steps, watching for Rhaegar the whole way down. The small foyer at the bottom was dark but the partially lit courtyard was visible through the doorway. 

“I’ll be needing my sister back now,” Rhaegar’s voice came from the dark. 

Even though it was meant to be a dramatic joke, the statement was eerily threatening. He stepped out from around a corner, prop weapons raised. 

“That’s too bad,” Dany responded, “Because I’m going. Whether you want me to or not.”

He raised his sword to strike and Dany swiped hers at his legs. It didn’t actually hit him, she was too far away, but he dropped to his knees and keeled over nonetheless. More shouting was heard above them. Dany and Jon dropped their playthings and ran outside.

Waiting in the courtyard were two gorgeous horses, dark coats glimmering in the artificial outdoor lights.

“Can you ride?”  
“How do you think I almost married a _khal_?” she said as she mounted. 

The implication of her words made Dany chuckle and so did Jon when he caught on. Their reserved snickers blossomed into full-blown laughter as they started their ride across the land between Winterfell and the Wolfswood.

The snow was picking up, not yet stronger than a flurry but it was more frequent. The flakes caught in their hair and Dany’s cheeks, which were earlier red from warmth, were now stinging with the cold wind. She didn’t mind. Something about being on horseback again reminded her of her time on the Great Grass Sea. 

Racing through the high grass with reckless abandon made it easy to forget the family she belonged to and all the drama that came with it. Out there, she was no one, she was whoever she wanted to be. She never rode much after the sudden severing of her relationship with Drogo. Braavos wasn’t a place for horses, the royal family didn’t keep them anymore, and Dany was never in Westeros long enough to spend a weekend in Dorne or the Reach.

In spite of the chill creeping through her coat, Dany lifted her head to feel the wind bite at her already frozen cheeks and tangle through her loosely bound hair. For the first time, the weight on her shoulders didn’t keep her down, her rapid tattoo of her heart beating against her ribcage and at the base of her throat.

They slowed at the edge of the Wolfswood and the reasoning behind horses as their mode of transportation became apparent. The path they followed was clear but thin and would be difficult to navigate on something like an ATV. 

“Where are we headed exactly?” Dany asked as she leaned to avoid a low hanging branch.

“It’s an old hunting lodge where royal couples usually spend their honeymoons. Since we don’t get one of those, I figured it’d be a nice place to hideout.”

Dany visited her fair share of hunting lodges in the south, including the famed Baratheon monstrosity known as Stag’s Retreat in the Stormlands, but she didn’t expect something that gaudy from the Starks. She pictured the supposed lodge as more of a small cabin nestled under some tall trees, something cozy and special. However, the North had a way of surprising her.

When the trail opened up into a small clearing, the lodge stood before them. The ‘nestled under pines’ part Dany got right, but their place of refuge proved larger than the picture in her mind. Of course, it would be sizable since it was meant to house large parties of guests for a week or two at a time. The structure was older too but no less impressive. 

Jon helped Dany down, her booted feet landing in the dusting of snow. A staff member rushed forward to take care of their horses. Dany shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets. Her gloves were thin and not meant for long exposure to the cold. 

“Gods, that was great. I haven’t ridden in forever.”

“They don’t keep horses in King’s Landing?”

“No, we house them elsewhere. I’m surprised Winterfell still has them on site.”

“Well, that’s partly because of me.”

“Really?”

“Aye. My aunt Lyanna was always good with them and I guess it must be Stark blood because Arya and I are the same way. It’s just these two though.”

“I suppose I rode on her beast then?” Dany stroked the animal's long, muscular neck. 

“Nymeria,” he answered, looping his fingers through the bridle and stroking the elegant head.

Dany nodded. Of course, Arya named her horse after the famed Rhoynish warrior queen.

“And yours?”

Jon grinned, “Night’s King.”

“Very fitting.”

"It's an old legend," he explained. "During the first years of the Age of Heroes, a Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was bewitched by a ghostly woman and laid with her, giving her his soul. He proclaimed himself Night's King and her Corpse Queen and took control of the Wall. Some versions say he was a sorcerer who made deals with the Others. My ancestor, Brandon the Breaker, and the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Joramun defeated him. If you ask my Nan, she says he was a Stark as well."

A shiver seized her, teeth chattering and shoulders hunched.

“Right, I think it’s time we got you inside,” he said.

Dany nodded in agreement and gladly followed him to the door, but stopped him before he opened it. 

“Thank you for all this but you really didn’t have to,” she reminded him.

“It’s nothing. Besides, it’s-”

“Don’t say it. That word is now forbidden for the rest of the night.”

He scoffed and opened the door.

It wasn’t as lofty and spacious as the exterior promised, in fact, the common room looked more like that of a common cabin with the usual hunting trophies and skins. There was a surprising lack of lighting fixtures composed of antlers. 

They shucked off their outer layers and stepped further inside but instead of heading straight to the worn leather sofa, they came to rest in the space between the coffee table and the fireplace. The spread of light food and wine was ignored for the promise of warmth.

She sat as close to the fire as she could and reached her hands out, trying to warm them.

“Wait,” Jon said, pulling her hands back from the flames and encasing them in his own, “You have to use your own body heat first.”

His hands were cold too but not nearly as frozen as Dany’s.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s just how it’s done.”

Dany didn’t question it further, Jon had a lifetime of cold survival knowledge, but she was wary of the way her heartbeat quickened when he held her hands. The sleeves of her tawny sweater were pushed up to her elbows from her rush to put on her coat, firelight illuminating the uneven row of small crescent-shaped scars on her forearm. 

“If the summers can be like this, the winters must be terrible.”

“Maybe for you southerners but we’re adapted to it here,” he assured her.

Dany shifted, pulling her legs closer and leaning her shoulder against the coffee table. She kept her gaze on their hands, trying to distract herself from looking at the scars. Did he see them too? Of course, he did, he was just being nice by not mentioning them.

“Yes, but what about _this_ winter? What’s going to be so bad about it that you need humanitarian aid?”

Jon sighed, “My father won’t get into specifics about it, even though it’s my place to know, but I can make assumptions. It sounds like extreme snowfall and sub-zero temperatures for the actual winter months but the maesters say we can expect below freezing for the summer after and much of the same for the following winter.”

He switched from pressing their hands together to holding just her fingers. His thumbs smoothing over the backs of her hands in soothing circles. Despite their relationship’s recent growth, Dany feared the gesture too familiar. She didn’t pull away though, something inside wanting to indulge her curious mind.

“I know what winters on the wall are like. People lose power or freeze to death or get sick and those are only mild ones lasting a few months. With the below-freezing summer temperatures our farmers won’t be able to plant crops, leading to food shortages. We can’t import food from Essos because the prices will increase and people will still starve. It doesn’t help that we’ve got no real exports besides timber and most of the forests are protected now.”

She watched his thumbs draw their lazy circles in the flickering light as she responded, “What about manufacturing? Factories and the like?”

“We have a few, nothing sticks around for long. They build their giant warehouses and then end up bankrupt so the buildings sit empty. What we need are the big companies from the South who have more reach but thanks to your ancestors we can’t do business with them.”

With a gentle squeeze, Jon let her hands go. Dany pulled her sleeves over them. 

“Couldn’t,” she corrected, “Once we’re married, Southern companies can bring their factories here.”

He looked at her with a furrowed brow, “There won’t be time to build anything new.”

“No, but they could retrofit the empty ones you mentioned. There’s still two and a half months of summer left, plenty of time to start production and maybe turning a profit before the winter comes. And you said it yourself, the Northmen always find ways to adapt so maybe they could find a way to keep running with the snow and cold.”

“Maybe. There are a lot of theoreticals.”

“Of course, it’s just an idea. That’s why you present it to the idea people and then they figure out how exactly it works.”

Dany, deciding she was warm enough, stood and went to the sofa. Picking up a throw blanket from the arm and draping it around her shoulders.

“Sounds like a bad way to rule.”

She sat and started preparing herself a glass of mulled wine from the insulated carafe, “Not bad, different. We can only know so much about so many subjects. And there are people who dedicate their lives to problem-solving.”

She added cinnamon and an orange slice to her wine before settling into the sofa, tucking her feet beside her and covering them with the edge of the blanket.

Jon joined her, “I guess we’ve never done it that way. The monarch is the ruler, the people’s problems are theirs alone to handle.”

“Maybe when you’re king, you can try it out.”

“Maybe. You know, we don’t have to talk about politics all night?”

“Of course but what is there to talk about?”

“We hardly know each other so maybe we start there.”

Dany sipped her hot wine and shook her head, “What do you want to know?”

“If you didn’t have to marry me, what would you be doing?”

“That’s very basic.”

“But important.”

“Okay, I would, hopefully, be starting my career as a civil rights attorney. That’s what I went to school for anyway and that’s what I would be doing if it weren’t for… all this,” she admitted.

“All the professions in the world and you chose to be a lawyer.”

“It was kind of an accident really. I was halfway through my four-year program for social work when I found this outreach mission through the university. It was supposed to be three months of waking up early, helping out in the shelters and camps, and going to bed late. Maybe some sight-seeing here and there but I didn’t care, it seemed like it would keep me busy and away from Westeros so I was sold.

“When you work with people, they tell you stories. A lot of the time they were in those shelters because they’d been kicked out of their homes because of where they were from, their gender, or what they did for a living. And there were stories of loved ones they’d lost because of those same factors. When I got back to Braavos, I had a long conversation with my advisor about a career.”

Dany nudged him with her foot, “What about you Prince Charming?”

“Veterinarian.”

“Really? Well, I should’ve guessed. Is it just horses or are you good with all animals?”

He smiled, “I don’t know about _all_ animals but my dad had a dog when I was younger, a coronation gift from the Council. He was this massive, mean beast. Catelyn always complained about him, worried he was going to hurt Robb. She wasn’t too worried about me, for her own reasons, but I climbed all over him, pulled at his fur and he never once growled at me. I was really upset when we had to put him down.”

“What did he do?”

“Nipped at Robb, didn’t actually catch him but there was plenty of warning. Robb even admitted it was his fault but Catelyn wasn’t having it.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Dany offered.

“Don’t worry about it, it was a while ago.”

“So it was the military then?”

“To be honest, I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice. When you’re a young boy who’s mad at the world for something you can’t control, you do a lot of stupid stuff. And sometimes that stuff ends up in the news. I felt like, if I went to university for something I didn’t care about, I would just be freeloading.”

“Hold on, you had bad press?

Jon just sighed and drank.

“That makes me feel _so_ much better. Here I was thinking this pure, wholesome prince and his nice family were taking pity on me when we’re both just PR nightmares.”

“It’s nice to know you’re not the only fuck up.”

“It is,” she grinned, slightly pleased with herself, “But we’re not those people anymore.”

She finally took her eyes off her lap and studied Jon for a moment. The firelight deepened shadows on his face, the scar over his eye looking ominous. The stubble along his jaw made his face sharper, hardened. They’d progressed, somehow, in the few weeks they’d known each other. He wasn’t the arrogant boy in a suit tracking her down and she was no longer the girl in the dress running from responsibility.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you why you were so dead set on being terrible the night we met.”

“Well… it’s easier for one thing. Everybody hears things about me from outside sources who have no clue what’s _actually_ happening in my life. They get these ideas about who Daenerys is and I got tired of trying to convince them I wasn’t like that. So when I asked you what you’d heard about me, I figured you already had your mind made up and that wasn’t going to change. And I was pissed at my brother for everything and I wanted to scare you off,” she admitted.

“But you still said yes.”

She held onto her response, knowing she couldn’t tell him the whole truth about Rhaegar’s suffocating pressure no matter how desperately it clawed at her chest to escape. Dany didn’t need his pity any more than she already had it.

“You stood up to me. You didn’t let me bulldoze over you and I respect that. It was also a sign that you really cared. And then I got to come North and experience everything and-” she leaned forward to take Jon’s hand- “I meant it. I want to help, even if this is the only way.”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He knew she didn’t want him to say thank you.

“Can I ask you about your scar?” Dany had to steel herself from reaching out to touch the vertical mark over his eye.

She knew of an accident he was involved in and assumed it was from that but she’d noticed the way he acted on their trip to the Wall, there was more to it.

“If you want to hear about it. It was standard patrol, I wasn’t supposed to be out but it was just dumb luck. We were attacked, I got separated and when I tried to radio for help one of them jumped me. Gave me the scar on my face and stabbed me in the leg.”

There was a long pause, Jon gazing into the fire.

“I shot him. My father was furious after that. The Lord Commander tried to explain that it was a freak coincidence but my father wasn’t hearing it. He’s got this weird thing about protecting me, like I’m a little boy who can’t take care of himself.”

“Fathers are like that with their sons,” Dany said, “Especially with firstborns.”

She knew Aerys was overprotective of Rhaegar, even before what happened with Viserys. Dany believed it was just one of the reasons for his behavior.

“I was fine at first, then I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I was there in that freezing cold forest, reliving every sound and sight. It’s better now but the stress of being back in Winterfell didn’t help things.”

“Why?”

“The Lords, for one. They never asked but they had their guesses about why I was mysteriously discharged and I could tell none of them were positive. And all the added attention wasn’t pleasant.”

“You didn’t miss the ‘marry me, Jon’ signs at every public appearance?” she teased.

He chuckled, “You’ve seen those?”

“They’re hard to miss.”

She’d seen them first at White Harbor and they filled her with bitter irony at the thought of someone actually _wanting_ to be in her position. Thinking about them again, a strange pride warmed her chest, as if she’d won some coveted prize.

“What about yours?” he inquired.

Jon pulled her hand close and pushed her sleeve up, his thumb brushing lightly over the raised shapes. Under his touch, they burned, white-hot against her still chilled skin and he looked at her with sympathy and question. Her heart was in her throat and she hated it. Dany swallowed hard, willing herself to speak. 

“I don’t think I’m ready to talk about mine yet. But I couldn’t sleep after it happened either,” she confessed, “They’re pretty ugly, aren’t they?”

“You think scars are ugly?”

“Mine, not yours,” she corrected, “Yours looks all strong and mysterious. These are just unfortunate.”

She pulled her arm back, pulling the sleeve down yet again. There was still one more scar hidden by her collar, thankfully. It happened at the same time as the ones on her wrist and she wanted to talk about that one even less.

“Why are we so obsessed with everything being perfect?”

“What?”

“Not about the scars necessarily, but the wedding and lying about our relationship. Why does everything have to be a damned fairytale?”

“Rhaegar once phrased it like this, we exist to rule and set an example of what everyone should aspire to be, the perfect citizens. If one of us acts up, it’s easy to dismiss but if the general public knew what happened behind closed doors, it’d be disastrous. Gods, that’s depressing, I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing evening.”

That made him smile but he hid it. Dany liked seeing his grin, she liked it even better knowing it was because of something she said.

“Admit it, I’m fun,” she pestered.

“You’re not as bad as I previously thought.”

“A-ha! So I’m not a raging bitch?”

“No, but you’re fucking stubborn.”

Dany smiled, “You’re not as sullen and broody as I thought you were. In fact, you have a decent sense of humor for a prince.”

“Alright,”

“And-” he tried to interrupt her again but she spoke over him, “And you’re an excellent dancer.”

“Oh please.”

“It’s true! I’m the one who keeps screwing up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I get so nervous that I’m going to forget something, I get worked up and then actually forget.”

“You’ll get it tomorrow,” he promised.

“Thank you.” She rolled her eyes.

“I mean, at least we haven’t crushed each other’s fingers.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Dany sighed, “Do you want to know that badly?”

“I’m kind of intrigued.”

With his admission, she told him the account of the dance gone wrong with one of the Tyrell boys when she was seventeen. He’d tried to end their anti-climactic waltz in a dip and instead dropped her to the floor, leading to one of the couples exiting the floor stepping on her vulnerable fingers. He felt terrible and tried to make it up to her with a weekend in Highgarden but his twelve-year-old sister Margaery was more entertaining.

Dany requested an entertaining story from him which led to the recounting of the time he and Robb convinced Sansa to help them prank Theon with anonymous love letters. It lasted all of two months, coming to a disastrous close when Theon decided it was Dacey Mormont and attempted to kiss her in the Godswood after a feast. He had a black eye and all the Stark siblings were lectured about playing pranks on each other. The speech from Catelyn did little to deter them.

“We never had prank wars like that. Rhaegar was too old and Viserys would throw a tantrum if I did something like that. Not to mention the reaction from all the staff.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to catch up with Bran and Arya running around.”

“At least there won’t be any fake love letters,” she smirked.

“No, I think we’ve worn that one out.”

The next couple of hours were spent exchanging the most lighthearted memories they had. Eventually, Dany let out a huge yawn, poorly concealed behind her hand.

“Is that a sign that we should head back?” Jon inquired.

She hummed, burrowing further into the blanket around her shoulders, “No, I want to stay here until the sun comes up.”

“And be exhausted for our wedding?” his coaxing was interrupted by his own yawn.

“If we must,” she stated dramatically.

They pulled back on their layers and Dany said a quick thank you to the staff who had readied the lodge for their use and were probably glad the royal couple was leaving so they could rest too.

Outside, the snow accumulated, blanketing everything in a nice, soft layer of sparkling white. There was too much so they would return to the castle via SUV, to which Dany wasn’t complaining at all. It was now far too cold for her. As soon as she was out the door she was shivering. 

A high lonesome sound echoed through the trees as the driver opened the car door for them.

“Is that?” Dany asked, looking into the trees as she instinctively tucked herself into Jon’s side.

Maybe it was the wine going to her head but when he grinned down at her with that ridiculously pretty grin, she swooned a little. Then he threw his head back, cupped his hands around his mouth, and howled back.

“Try it,” he dared.

“Dragons don’t howl, they roar.”

“Humor me.”

She gave him the side-eye as she raised her hands to imitate him. Dany’s was quieter and much timider but it still carried and sounded haunting in the still of the forest.

“Could use some work,” Jon offered.

“Oh, shut up.” She punched him playfully in the arm before turning to climb into the vehicle. 

Their driver took the much more accessible southern trail that wound through the forest and could easily be classified as the scenic route. Dany fought her eyelids as they grew heavy, refusing to give in to the temptation to lean her head on Jon’s shoulder.

Her good fight was spoiled when the SUV hit a divot in the trail and upset her balance enough that she ended up braced against Jon’s shoulder. It was downhill from there. He was warm and she was tired and they both snickered as Jon wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

When they finally arrived back inside Winterfell’s walls, Jon escorted Dany to her room. They didn’t talk, letting their footsteps fill the silence. She held his hand as she leaned against him, oddly exhausted from all the excitement and talking and the wine. Tired as she was, every nerve ending was buzzing and she was hyper-aware of her pulse.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Their marriage was a business transaction between two nations, it wasn’t built with romance in mind. But Elia and Rhaegar had it. Dany was tempted to see if there was a possibility in her increasingly tangible future.

Her door came faster than anticipated and she was reluctant to let go of Jon’s hand. She wasn’t sure if it was their night full of confessionals or the subconscious feelings she harbored about him. Dany was never able to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling in the moment, no matter how hard she tried. In moments like these, she did whatever came naturally. 

Gods, she was going to regret this. 

As fluidly as she could, Dany grabbed his other hand, pulled him as close as she dared, and pressed her lips firmly to his.

As quickly as she’d lunged forward, she pulled back. It wasn’t the frenzied, desperate, tongue and teeth sort of kiss she knew before, and it wasn’t supposed to be. She meant it as a promise. There could be something if they were patient and let things take their course. Dany noticed something different in Jon’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and averted her eyes, “I just thought… because we had to do it tomorrow… we might as well get it out of the way.”

He pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead, “Goodnight, Dany.”

“Goodnight, Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the kiss wasn't originally planned, I'll admit. I toyed with the idea but didn't like it and then I figured, eh, why not. But nothing too crazy, this is /slow/ burn.
> 
> The Long Night mentioned in this chapter is basically just Planetos' "Dark Age". In the timeline I made for Modern Westeros, it takes place after the doom and collapse of the Valyrian Freehold. Much like the "dark age" that took place after the fall of Rome.
> 
> If you're interested in keeping tabs on any upcoming projects, my fanfic writing journey, or if you want to ask me questions/have a chat, you can find me on tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/classicbriewrites


	19. a marriage of equals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Northern wedding without at least three dramatic events is considered a dull affair

* * *

The morning came as it always did on important occasions, quiet and heavy, as though something shifted and there was no way to know if it was for better or worse. When Dany woke, her window was frosted over and the room was cooler than usual. She stared at the wooden beams across the ceiling, recalling the events of last night. Her scars and his hands, their laughter and howling, the biting wind against her cheeks. She expected to feel dreadful or nauseous. Instead, a sense of detachment followed her through her unusually empty morning. No meetings, no fittings, only a quiet breakfast with her family.

Before she knew it she was seated in front of a vanity while the hairstylist flitted about. Dany insisted on doing her own makeup (no one ever got her eyebrows right) and was trying her best to not annoy the woman as she put on the final touches. Her usual flare for the dramatic was absent as she found herself reaching for soft, neutral colors. In an attempt to keep everything organized, and Dany’s increasing anxiousness at bay, every single brush and cosmetic product was placed back in its proper place.

The detached feeling disappeared as the loaned tiara from Catelyn, which Dany nicknamed “The Fringe”, was lowered onto her head. The weight grounding her back in her body. When she looked in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself. The woman who stared back was fiercely ethereal with soft eyes and a halo of sword points. Giddiness ignited in her chest and she couldn’t fight the smile on her face. 

A member of the castle staff hurried into the room just before Jeyne was scheduled to dress Dany. The snow wanted to stick around for the ceremony and she couldn’t wear her light-soled, silk shoes. Somehow, the staff dug up a suitable replacement. Soft, caramel-colored leather boots lined with a lighter shade of fur. They were walking boots from a time before Dany was born with a stumpy heel, they pinched her toes but they were warm. 

Finally, the enormous dress rack was rolled into the room and it was time for the main event in ceremony prep. 

Jeyne’s expert hands fastened the detail buttons on the column of white chiffon pleated and darted to fit like a glove around her torso and waist. Soft tulle lay delicately and near-invisible against her arms and chest. The only embellishments were the patterns of crystalline beads along her wrists, swirling up toward her elbows with similar beading on the edges of the high neckline. At first glance, Dany thought the details were just pretty decoration but upon closer inspection, the meandering lines proved to be an artificial frost with subtle hints of blue and grey. An odd choice for a summer wedding she knew, but by pure chance, it was fitting. 

All the drama lay in the layers of tulle expertly folded, pressed, and starched to form the architectural bustle skirt that needed to be attached to the dress through a system of hooks and eyes. The over-skirt added more width than length but there was still a considerable train. It was a royal wedding dress after all and she sacrificed the veil to settle a debt. 

“You look absolutely gorgeous, Your Highness,” Jeyne commented as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“All thanks to your wonderful artistry. This dress is… perfect” Dany sighed, afraid that if she moved, she would disturb the perfect way the fabric rested.

“Some of my best work and all for the most important wedding of the year.”

Normally, referring to the occasion as such would annoy Dany but more and more she was starting to see why it was referred to in that way. When she first arrived at Winterfell, the surrounding town was near deserted but according to the staff, the inns filled up and people were lined along the streets to watch the ceremonial carriage route that would take place after the wedding. Not to mention the pop-up gift shops selling royal wedding memorabilia both real and counterfeit.

A knock on the door drew their attention away from ogling the dress. Rhaegar entered with an important-looking document holder in his arm.

“You look lovely, Dany.”

“You weren’t supposed to see it yet,” she huffed, not bothering to turn around to address him.

Her eyes fixed on the reflection of the red padded folder. She knew what was in it, her marriage contract, the source of much debate and ire. It required her signature. A few pen strokes across the parchment and everything would be close to final. Rhaegar didn’t have to say anything, Dany was already stepping down from the platform. 

He laid it out on a table, the blank space for her name practically glowing in the overcast light from the window. A gilded fountain pen sat beside it. An official document needed an official pen to sign it. 

The papers sitting before her detailed everything she was giving up; Dragonstone and her claim to it, her place in line for the throne, her potential career, and a small bit of personal freedom. But for the first time since her return to Westeros she felt a sense of control. She was picking up the pen and signing her name because she _decided_ to, not because Rhaegar forced her hand. 

The pen was cool to touch, as everything was that morning, and Dany took a deep breath to ground herself. She had a personal saying she liked to tell herself whenever she made an important life decision. _If I look back, I’m lost._ The door was open, all she needed to do was walk through and shut it firmly behind her. 

A hand on her arm stopped her, “Dany, before you sign those papers I have something to ask of you.”

She furrowed her brow and made a motion to Jeyne, who gracefully bowed her head and left. 

Dany waited until the door closed to glare at her brother, “Haven’t you already asked enough?”

“It’s just one more thing,” he assured her, “When you returned to King’s Landing, I told you about the military strength gathering here, do you remember?”

“Yes,” she answered, “but if this doesn’t concern me or the wedding, you need to discuss it with the King.”

She tried to turn back and sign her name but he stopped her again, with more force. The pressure from his hand was enough to make her blood run cold.

“I want you to keep an eye out while you’re here and let me know if you learn anything.”

The way Rhaegar worded it made Dany’s stomach twist. Using the unsubstantiated military threat to cover up what he was really asking.

“You want me to spy on them,” she whispered, pen hovering above the parchment.

“We’ve wanted to get someone into the Northern court for a long time but they’re very closed off. Tywin suggested we use you since you’re already here.”

It was well known that there were Westerosi agents in every major government around the world. They had the ears of the most influential people, guiding their hands in favor of western interests. Wealthy men like Tywin Lannister, Rhaegar’s Hand and current Lord Supreme of the High Council, benefited greatly from the exploitation.

She’d expected Rhaegar to suggest such a thing but the fact he actually said the words amazed her. She recalled the ignorant comments of the radio hosts after the engagement was announced, accusing her of seducing their prince so she could further her brother’s agenda. Dany scoffed at the notion but there she was, facing the exact situation she’d dismissed as mere conspiracy. She refused to let them be right in their assumptions. With a glance back at her marriage contract, she rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. 

“No.”

“What?”

“You heard me perfectly fine. I won’t do it.”

Before Rhaegar could get another word out, she signed her name on the line. It was done. The pen clattered against the lacquered wood table. There was a reason he asked her before her name was signed but he obviously didn’t expect her answer to be ‘no’.

“There.” She flashed her palms, “I’m a Targaryen in name only now, you can’t command me anymore.”

“You’re still a citizen of the United Kingdoms of Westeros and I am your king.”

“Not for much longer. I’m not your pawn, Rhaegar. Did you think I would sign away my future because you asked?”

“Yes, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“The South has nothing to gain from this treaty, it was pointless of you to consider it, so why are you pushing so hard.”

“I have the chance to get someone in the ear of the most influential person up here. With your marriage, you have the chance to steer policy in our favor.”

Dany barked a laugh, harsh and abrupt against the level tones of their conversation. 

“Daenerys, do as I say or I’ll-”

“You’ll what? There’s nothing for you to take away. I’ve done exactly what you asked of me and signed away my future and my own damn _claim_ . You think I said yes because you wanted me to but that’s wrong. I didn’t do it for you, or the Targaryen legacy, or the United Kingdoms of Westeros. I did it for the North, for the Starks and their people.” _For Jon_. “And you know better than anyone that I keep my promises.”

He opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off.

“How dare you come in here and demand things of me when I’ve already sacrificed everything so you can play Aegon the Conqueror come again. You think you’re going to be some great Targaryen King but you’re not, you’re just a bully like our father,” she ranted.

A wild rage flashed in Rhaegar’s eyes and he struck out like a snake, gripping her forearm like a vice. The soft weave of the fabric scratched under the force and the beads dug into her skin.

She cried out before tearing away, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You didn’t know father! Everything he did was to protect us from a world that wants to see us fail.”

Dany clutched her arm close to her chest and tried to back away but in her gown only allowed a few inches distance. 

“You’re messing with things you can’t even begin to comprehend,” Rhaegar hissed.

“If you’re keeping something from me, you had better spill it right now.”

He only looked at her. It was enough to confirm Dany’s fears and set her off.

“Get out,” she seethed, forcing herself to keep as level a voice as she could.

When he only blinked at her, she surged forward and seized the thick folder, shoving it at his chest.

“Go!” 

He did, with an awful, storming fury. Dany braced herself against the table, her legs weak and her throat tightening. She wasn’t sure if she was going to vomit or cry or both, she couldn’t afford to do either. _I am still the blood of the dragon_ , she reminded herself with a shaking inhale, _dragons do not cry_. 

Ser Jorah, who had been standing guard at the door, was at her side, “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, accepting his guiding arm. She had to keep moving to distract herself from thinking about anything other than the task at hand.

“Dany…”

“I’m sure there’s somewhere I’m needed so if we could get going.”

He nodded and took her to the room where the rest of the women were getting ready, trying her best to put whatever just happened out of her mind. In another hour, she would be free from her brother completely. Until she had to see him again for the Southern ceremony.

The reactions to her wedding look lightened her mood, her heart swelling at the gasps and sincere compliments. There were a few selfies and pictures for private memories before they were forced to continue on to their places. 

Dany waited for the ceremony to start, concealed with her wedding party behind trees and a trellis of flowers the staff managed to salvage from the cold. Even with the bride’s cloak draped over her shoulders, she was still feeling the effects of the cold. The castle staff worked their way through the seating, dusting off chairs and decoration as best they could and blankets were offered to guests who hadn’t planned for the sudden snow.

Missy swept her into yet another hug, “I can’t believe my best friend is getting married. You look so beautiful.”

Dany murmured her thanks into her best friend’s shoulder.

“I’m really sorry you couldn’t be in the wedding party, I know it’s a big deal.”

“Are you kidding me? This is the hottest ticket in town and I’ve got a front-row seat. There are watch parties for this thing, Dany.”

“You’re joking,” she gasped.

“I would show you but, no phones,” she shrugged, “Apparently you love birds are the epitome of fairytale romance and the people have hardly seen you.”

“That’s a good thing,” Dany sighed, “We wouldn’t want to spoil the narrative.”

A coordinator poked their head in to remind them of the time. Missy left to find her seat, leaving Dany with Elia and the gaggle of noble children.

Usually, Dany preferred the company of her sister-in-law but at that moment she wanted to keep her distance. Elia had a way of knowing when something was up and Dany knew if she didn’t keep her mind off of the confrontation with Rhaegar she wasn’t going to be able to fake a smile.

Elia wasted no time in getting to Dany.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mostly nervous,” Dany deflected, about to cross her arms when she remembered the embroidery on her sleeves would snag her dress.

“Jeyne came to us after you asked her to leave. We heard yelling but no words so what happened?”

“You mean you didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

Dany scoffed, “It seems Rhaegar’s keeping secrets from us both then.”

The coordinator started arranging everyone in their places, thankfully separating the two royals before any more explaining had to be done. However, it meant that Dany was now face to face with her brother.

It never failed to amaze her how similar to their father he looked. Whereas Aerys had tried to preserve the monarchy through keeping a low and positive profile, Rhaegar meant to do it through securing his power and expanding his influence. He was too ambitious for his own good.

As the melancholy string music started from the other side of their hiding spot, Rhaegar offered his arm for her to take. In his other was the precious Valyrian steel sword, a symbol of the protection provided by her family. She wanted nothing more than to rip it from his grasp and march herself down the aisle. 

When she refused to take his arm, he glanced at her and sighed.

“Dany, I apologize for earlier. I don’t know what came over me but it was out of line.”

“Apologies are for when you step on someone’s foot, what you did was not only out of line, it was unforgivable. Especially since you know my history with situations like that. Unfortunately, I am not a frightened little girl hiding under daddy’s desk and I will not be intimidated into doing what you ask.”

Elia started her procession, escorted by Bran. Dany and Rhaegar would follow when they got the go-ahead from the coordinator. 

“And Rhaegar, if you ever suggest something that absurd ever again-” she looped her arm through his and accepted her bouquet from a waiting Sansa- “you’ll have a lot more than a PR mess to clean up.”

The green light came and Dany put on her best, pleasant smile. She fought herself to keep from putting too much distance between her and Rhaegar, though her dress helped in that aspect. And to keep from rushing ahead of the music accompanying their achingly slow march. The sooner she was standing in front of that sacred tree the better.

She almost laughed at the thought. A month ago she was ready to fight the Gods one-on-one to get away from the arrangement imposed on her. Now, she had to restrain herself from sprinting down the aisle like a madwoman. The eyes of the guests reminded her that there were thousands of people gathered in front of their televisions to witness the strange liberation of Daenerys Targaryen from one gilded cage to another. But this new trap was roomier and Dany could move and breathe and dance as she pleased, without judgment or trepidation.

At the end of the aisle stood Jon, looking every bit the part of Prince Charming. His black ceremonial uniform wasn’t the same one she’d observed on the Wall, with the pale green sash and silver braid it must have been from another order. Only three medals shone against the dark fabric. 

With a few more steps, the snow packing beneath her borrowed boots, she was there. Released from Rhaegar’s arm, her bouquet safely in the hands of Sansa, she took Jon’s hand.

“Dearly beloved,” Jon’s uncle, Benjen, started, “we are gathered here today to witness not only the joining of a man and woman in holy matrimony but the joining of two nations, separated for too long..”

As he continued, Jon leaned closer to whisper, “I heard about what happened with your brother. Are you alright?”

Dany jerked her head to look at him, her jaw dropping for an instant before she snapped it back shut. She had to remember where she was.

“I’m fine. Or I will be. How did you find out?”

“Sansa,” he said simply.

 _That girl_.

He squeezed her hand, “You’ve got this.”

“ _We’ve_ got this. We’re a team now, whether either of us likes it or not,” she replied with a reassuring pulse of her own hand.

She wished she could bring an easy smile to her face again but at least she could relax her jaw. 

Elia stood to give her reading, a piece from the _Book of the Maiden_ that was usually read at royal weddings in the south. There were at least fifty different variants of the song version.

“The maid presented Hugor with a bride and the fair woman said, ‘Entreat me not to leave you, to turn back from following after. For where you go, I will go. And where you live, I will live. Your people shall be my people and your Gods, my Gods. Where you die, I will die, there I will be buried. The gods do so to me and more also. If aught but death parts you and me.”

The words sounded less somber in her Dornish lilt, prettier too. Eddard Stark stood and gave the next reading, a longer piece Dany remembered. She tucked her free hand under the warmth of the lined bride’s cloak, the cold was starting to settle through her boots.

“The little things are the big things. It is never being too old to hold hands, it is remembering to say, “I love you” at least once a day. It is never going to sleep angry, it is at no time taking the other for granted; the courtship should not end with the honeymoon, it should continue through all the years. It is speaking words of appreciation and demonstrating gratitude in thoughtful ways, it is not expecting the husband to wear a halo or the wife to have wings of an angel. It is not looking for perfection in each other, it is cultivating flexibility, patience, understanding, and a sense of humor. It is having the capacity to forgive and forget. It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow. It is finding room for the things of the spirit. It is a common search for the good and the beautiful. It is establishing a relationship in which independence is equal, dependence is mutual and the obligation is reciprocal. It is not only marrying the right partner, it is being the right partner.”

The King smiled at his son and soon to be daughter in law, Dany found it in herself to return the gesture.

“It is now time for the unity promise,” Benjen announced.

Rhaegar passed the sword to Dany, who presented it to Jon. She wanted to ask Jon if he’d come up with a name for their weapon but it was too quiet. The sword passed from his hands to Robb’s which meant it was time for her to change cloaks. Her brother waited behind her to remove it. Before she turned to face him, she unclasped it and pulled it from her shoulders. Dany carefully folded it before handing it to Rhaegar.

She was supposed to let him do that, he was the one giving her away, but she couldn’t stand the thought of it. And she couldn’t wait to hear the fuss it made later.

The chilled air nipped at her exposed skin and she hummed in relief when the new cloak was placed over her shoulders. The weight of the embroidered direwolf was calming, like a welcoming hug. The symbolism was evident then, she would be safe with the Starks.

Despite the rehearsal, the exchanging of rings and vows snuck up on her. Her left hand was presented to Jon, her fingers red from the cold and her ring finger bare. The beautiful engagement ring sitting on her right hand for the ceremony. Then he was saying the words and sliding the silver band onto her finger. 

When she looked into his eyes, there was understanding and encouragement. They were doing this and it was nearly over.

It was her turn. The ring pressed against her palm and she shivered.

“I, Daenerys, choose you, Jon, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, trusting what I do not. I will respect you as an individual, a partner, and an equal. I promise to laugh with you when times are good, and endure with you when they’re bad. I will always adore, honor, and encourage you. From this day, until the end of my days.”

She shook as she slid the ring onto his finger, from the cold and her own nerves. Both her hands were caught in his as Benjen started his next declaration.

“By the power vested in me by the Old Gods and The Crown, I pronounce you husband and wife, two hearts that beat as one. You may kiss the bride.”

Even though they kissed last night, this time was different. There was the same chaste sweetness but a weight resting behind it. And just like last time, it was over as soon as it had started. At first, Dany didn’t hear the cheers. She was too busy staring into the conflicted eyes of her new husband. The nuance that caught her eye was gone when they turned to face their audience. 

“We did it,” Jon said, wide smiles of relief spreading across both of their faces.

“Yes, but the day’s not over yet.”

The ceremonial carriage ride that followed was crowded and long but Dany managed to escape the cold tucked next to Jon. As soon as they arrived back at Winterfell they were separated. Dany could still feel the impression of Jon’s hand clasped in hers as she was hauled off for her second costume change of the night. 

According to the coordinator they were running late, which was Dany’s fault. Luckily, the bustle skirt was removed so she could fit in the tight confines of the antiquated vehicle, making the dress switch easier and quicker. 

The second dress of the evening, unlike her main gown, Dany was in love with from the first moment she put it on. She tried to remain firm on her preference for structure and drama but this dress changed that. The soft layers of pure white silk chiffon fell around her legs into a handkerchief hem just above her ankles, flowing from a gathering at her chest and carefully cinched at her waist with a thin strip of matching white ribbon. It was the sort of dress worn by a woodland fairy or a mythical maiden and it brought out the girlish nature Dany fought hard to keep at bay. She wanted to spin around in it for hours.

She was relieved of her hardly effective winter boots and didn’t have time to let her feet relax before she was doing up the straps on her dancing shoes. She winced when she stood, it was going to be a long night.

She let down half of her hair and replaced The Fringe with a simple thin band of silver. Then she was escorted to the heavy door of the Great Hall, where Jon was waiting for her. Looking sophisticated in his tux, having ditched the princely uniform. If it weren’t for the hundreds of high profile guests congregating in the room before them, they could pass for an ordinary groom and bride. Well, husband and wife, now.

Dany never thought she would be a wife before thirty yet there she stood. All things considered, she’d done pretty well for herself. Making the best out of an awful situation and turning it in her favor. She shifted her weight and sucked in a breath. Even though the shoes were well broken in, the residual pain in her feet grew worse.

Through the heavy doors, The King of the North’s voice boomed, “I have the pleasure to introduce, for the first time, Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Jon of House Stark and Princess Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Duke and Duchess of The Last River.”

The doors were wrenched open and the cheers that accompanied were louder than the ones from the ceremony. Of course, there were more people at the reception and they were waiting for the newlyweds’ arrival to commence their feasting. Jon and Dany were seated at the center of the high table, with the Targaryens on the right and the Starks to the left. 

The guests were too interested in their drink and food to gawk at the supposed love birds, it took a great deal of pressure off them. In anticipation of the dancing later, Dany watched how much she drank and ate, everything was going well and she didn’t want to ruin it by throwing up. There was plenty of toasting too, Jon politely telling Dany about each Lord and high ranking officials who offered their words. 

She recognized the Mormonts and Manderelys and, of course, Roose Bolton. His amiable wife was dulled by his off-putting demeanor as they sat at a table nearest to the royals. He kept his bone-chilling gaze off of Dany this time, hopefully because the nuptials quieted his suspicions of her intentions with Jon. The creepy duke would be at it again by sunrise tomorrow. Thinking about snooping, a thought struck her. 

If Elia and Sansa heard the argument between Dany and Rhaegar, did that mean other people in Winterfell heard it too? No, Elia said she couldn’t make out the words. And Duke Bolton had no business being in the guest wing, especially when it was blocked off to non-wedding personnel. But walls had ears and every sensible, titled man with a bone to pick had an extra set of eyes. Dany knew she wasn't escaping court politics for good, she was entering an inherently political position, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to be so vigilant.

Just as Bolton’s head turned to look at her, Dany’s gaze was torn away by Jon’s hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even noticed how quiet the hall was as the king announced it was time for the first dance. The momentary gap in sound vanished as everyone took to helping move the benches and tables out of the way. 

She survived the first half of the day without any jitters and somehow, her sudden stage fright made up for it. 

Swallowing her nervousness, Dany stood, wincing as she did. Even though her shoes were well broken in, the residual pain in her feet only grew. She made it as far as the edge of their temporary dance floor before she bent to tear them off, sighing as her feet felt the cool stone. The shoes found a home with the person standing next to her, Dany offering a smile in apology, then she and Jon took their places. 

The moderate tempo of the fiddle filled the room, accompanied by a softly picked guitar. In rehearsal, they used a pre-recorded track and the song always sounded pretty but now it sounded alive and brilliant. The difference in sound quality did nothing to quell her nerves and her restraint for not rushing ahead of the music was wearing thin. Dany caught Jon’s eyes, reminding herself to relax and breathe. There was no use getting worked up over it now. At least most of the people watching were tipsy so if she screwed up, it would be the last thing they remembered.

The guitar picked up and so the step started to get more interesting. They were still the basic ball changes and three-step turns but with more energy. Jon and Dany traveled across the floor, passing each other but never interacting except for a few quick glances. The force behind Dany’s smile eased up as she let herself fall into the ebb and flow of the dance.

The fiddle gave a low whine before resuming the melody. From opposite sides of the floor, Jon and Dany started to walk towards each other. A pipe joined in the orchestration, it’s high, lamenting sound rising over all else in the room as the two circled each other. Their palms resting together and rising over their heads before they switched directions and did the same thing. They circled each other again, growing closer as the fiddle and guitar intensified and the pipes soared over it all.

The music broke from its build as Dany and Jon carted each other around the floor. She wasn’t trying to think ahead, letting herself exist within the lively rhythm. Encouraged by the enthusiasm of the court, the musicians played louder as the song entered another build; the drums becoming a driving force. 

They abandoned the choreography to spin each other around the floor with all the vigor and freedom of children, something that would never happen in the south. Those waltzes had specific steps and a break from protocol could result in a few scrapes and bruises. But Dany tried not to focus on anything other than the feel of the soft fabric of her dress as it fluttered around her legs, the cool floor against the balls of her feet, and Jon’s warm hand against her waist. 

She was content to stay like that for the rest of the song, but Jon surprised her by lifting her straight off the ground. It was just the little lift they rehearsed a dozen times before, there was more momentum behind it and Dany felt suspended in the air, only to be lowered to the ground as though she were a delicate package. She twirled away and around herself, never wanting to stop. Then the music stopped, and she stopped, standing face to face with the man she now shared her life with.

He would’ve looked a disheveled mess if he weren’t so damn beautiful. Dark curls tousled and shirt partly unbuttoned, breathing hard. Dany was suddenly aware of how warm the room was and the light sheen of sweat along her back, her head still spinning a little. The near-hysterical laughter of relief bubbled in her chest, spilling from her throat as she threw her arms around Jon’s shoulders. He responded much the same and her feet left the floor as he spun her around once more.

Dany felt more like herself than she had in a while. She spent quite a bit of time on the dance floor, spinning Rhaenys and Aegon around and swaying to the occasional slow song with Jon. She hit a wall sometime after the cake cutting, the heat of the hall getting to her as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. 

They were back at the high table, taking a break from the action and observing from afar. It would’ve been cooler there but a fire burned in the hearth behind them. 

“I’m exhausted,” she sighed, letting her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Me too. Ready to slip out of here then?”

“What time is it?”

She felt him shift to check his watch, “Still early.”

Dany hummed, “I’ve still got another hour in me, just need some air.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m not going far,” she promised, pulling herself away from him, “Be right back.”

She found respite in the empty hallway. It was dark and cool and surprisingly quiet despite the noise next door. Dany sat on a cushioned bench beneath a window overlooking the blanketed courtyard. It had been such a long day and now that she was alone and away from the party, the ache set in her muscles and tempted her to take her shoes off again. A sweet ache from dancing as she hadn’t in a long time, but the one in her head was going to be an issue. She rested her head on the frigid glass.

Thinking of aches brought back a phantom feeling in her arm. The feeling of soft tulle and embroidery turned harsh under a harmful hand. She pushed the thought away, rubbing her forearm. It would do her no good to dwell on it. She had to look forward.

“Dany?” a familiar voice asked.

She whipped her head around and sure enough, there he was, like a figment of a hazy memory. Dany stood, her head clear in an instant.

“Daario, what are you doing here?”

He took a step towards her and she took one back

“I was invited,” he offered.

“You most certainly were not.”

“Then how did I get this?”

He reached into his suit pocket and produced the official invitation for the reception only. 

“I don’t know but you weren’t on the guest list. You shouldn’t- you _can’t_ be here.”

If someone saw them, she was doomed. The wife of the Crowned Prince, married only a few hours, talking alone in a secluded hallway with an ex-flame she had been publicly photographed with was bound to start rumors. And that sort of gossip would be the fuel needed to drive down public opinion of her. Not to mention the havoc it could wreak on her already delicate relationship with Jon.

“I want to talk to you,” he supplied, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

Dany huffed, “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Please, I came to apologize.”

The one time she actually needed to run away from a situation and she was glued to the spot.

“Fine, I’ll hear you out but you have to leave immediately after. And we can’t talk here.”

A little further down the hall was a small sitting room, which was bound to have alcohol in it. Dany made sure to secure the door once they were inside. Ignoring the light switch and finding her way around in the dark, she poured herself a glass of whatever looked the strongest.

“Well?” she asked as she settled into a sofa on the opposite side of the room.

“When you called me to end things, it was so out of the blue. And you wouldn’t tell me why, I got so upset and said things I knew would hurt. But they weren’t true and you didn’t deserve any of that.”

She just watched and listened, there was no reason for her to interject yet.

Daario exhaled harshly, “Seeing your engagement everywhere stung because I thought you moved on so fast. Then I remembered you talking about your brother and the crown and it started to make sense. You said, legally, you couldn’t say anything. Can you now?”

“I’m afraid I still can’t be one hundred percent honest with you,” Dany answered, “But I can assure you this was my decision, even if it’s strange to you.”

“How was it your decision?”

“They presented me with an agreement and I said yes, after a short while.”

“But you should be in Essos. You were happy.”

“I’m happy here. Besides, I never set up an internship after graduation. There wouldn’t be much for me to do there.”

“What I meant was, _we_ were happy.”

 _Dammit_ , _there it was_. “I’m such a fucking idiot,” she grumbled, putting her head in her hands.

“Dany, I love you.”

“No, no, you do not get to come in here and say that to me on my wedding night!”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t love you.” Her temper flared. “I thought I did but I was lying to myself because I was so desperate for a reason to say no. I wanted so badly to cling to my old life I made myself think my feelings were deeper than they really were. And for what? All it did was cause me more pain. It was stupid and childish of me. I made my decision, I went through with it, and it’s time to move on.”

“What about him, do you love him?”

“Not right now, but I will. It may take months, maybe years. Jon is a good man and he would never say the things you’ve said to me.”

Yet she stomped on the faith he had in her with every second she spent in that sitting room. 

“And he’s probably wondering where I am, so I’m going back to the hall and I want you the hell out of this castle.” She pushed past him, surprised there wasn’t steam rising off her skin in the cold air.

She found Ser Jorah as he ended a conversation with his father. It seemed her union fixed relations in more ways than one. After telling him about Daario, she scanned the room for Jon. He was nowhere to be seen.

The Great Hall was a chaotic environment and it didn’t look like it was going to calm down until the dawn. 

Dany bumped into Talisa, who was tipsy and hanging on the shoulder of a much more sober Robb.

“Where have you been?” she demanded,

“I was taking a breather. Have you seen Jon?”

“I think he’s looking for you,” Robb cut in.

Dany huffed and looked out across the courtyard, spotting a light shining from one of the rooms across the way. She was still learning the layout of Winterfell but she had a hunch about whose room it was. Grabbing a whole bottle of wine from a passing server, she ventured away from the revelry and into the cold. The night was young and Dany was about to do something very stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. After a week of getting my ass handed to me, I got this monster of a chapter done. I apologize for any roughness of it, I didn't get to do as many proofreads as I would've liked.
> 
> As always, leave a comment if you feel compelled and feel free to follow my Tumblr for info on updates and other projects!
> 
> In case you were wondering what Dany's reception dress looked like, https://paolosebastian.com/collections/2019-20-autumn-winter-couture-collection/psaw1903


	20. reach out and show a little loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns what's up with Dany

* * *

With every soul crammed into the Great Hall, the rest of the old castle felt abandoned, devoid of the low buzz of liveliness it usually held. If Jon listened closely he could hear the distant sounds of the party as they drifted through the empty halls, bouncing off the bare stone. After Dany went to get some air and never returned, he assumed she found her way to bed. They had every right to be exhausted after a day packed full of movement and interaction. He still checked the hallway for her but saw no sign of his new wife wandering around.

So he went back to his own rooms, a little relieved to be away from the heat and busyness. He loved his family and their energy but he was tired. Though, he could find the energy to spend all night dancing if just to see Dany dash around the floor like a mythical woman of the forest, for her manic laughter in his ear and slight form pressed to him. After the dance, she seemed different. Bolder and brighter, more carefree and present. As though she adopted the frenetic atmosphere around her. It was truly a wonderful thing. 

Dany was full of little moments like that. Like during their carriage ride through Wintertown, when she spotted a group of children in paper crowns and fancy dress and immediately ordered the driver to stop. When security wouldn’t let her down to mingle, she simply leaned over the side of the carriage, pulling flowers out of her bouquet for them. Jon got in on the act too, talking with the people on his side, shaking hands and graciously accepting their congratulations. The overcast sky failed to dull her brilliance, adorned in white and grey and beads and gems. Just another instance where he wondered how this woman ended up in his life.

What coin did the Gods flip for this to be his future, the way his life must go. Not that he was complaining, there were worse ways to live and Jon was certain there would be hard times. But now, he had Dany. And just like he and his family were a pack, dynamic and complex, Jon and Dany were discovering their own way of operating. She’d said it best, they were a team. Though he wasn’t sure how coordinated.

After being unable to find Dany and making for his rooms, he heard voices coming from one of the sitting rooms, the door shut. Jon didn’t make it a habit of listening in on private conversations, he discovered that it brought him more harm than good, but one of the voices sounded very familiar. With the heavy door in between, he was only able to make out bits and pieces but he heard enough. 

He didn’t listen long either and was still trying to decide what to make of it all. 

A knocking at the door pulled him away from his musing and set him onto wondering who could want him at this hour.

He opened the door to Dany, a half-empty bottle of whisky dangled from one hand, a glass from the other. She leaned against the door frame, a lazy yet confident smile on her face, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jon returned, confused.

“Can I come in?”

He motioned for her to enter and she pushed off the door frame to walk past him. Something was different about her demeanor, looser and swaggering. Jon remained in his place by the door, doing what he did best, observing.

“Dany, where have you been?”

“Oh, around,” she sighed, dropping to the settee in the solar.

“And leaving a trail of empty bottles behind?”

“You could say that.” she undid the straps on her shoes, letting them clatter to the ground before tucking her feet up.

Dany shifted, draping herself over the dark upholstered cushions. The liquid fabric of her dress settled over her legs like the crystal silver waters of a placid lake, spilling off the edge of the seat in sheer waves. She wasted no time in removing the pins from her hair, the silver band too. Ruffling a hand through her waves, they rested in a messy, lopsided halo around her face and exposed shoulders.

She finally leveled her gaze on him. Her pretty violet eyes, rimmed in hazy makeup, were dark in the dim light. A flush colored her cheeks the soft pastel of health and exhilaration. Or was it a drunken boldness simmering beneath.

“How much have you had?”

“Hm, not enough to kill me. You know you can come over here and sit down, you know, instead of brooding in the corner.”

“Not brooding.” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Then what are you doing?”  
“Looking.”

“Do you like what you see?” mixed with her heated gaze, the smirk she gave him was near predatory. 

“I would be a fool to say no,” he admitted, “Did you come here so I would stroke your ego?”

“No, I came because I genuinely enjoy your company and I … don’t want to be alone right now.”

Her boozy confidence wavered and she drank her whiskey straight from the bottle, as though trying to replace it.

Jon gave in and sighed as he approached her.

“Is it about your brother?” he didn’t want to breach the subject of her private conversation too soon.

She scoffed, “Like you really care.”

“Think what you want, Dany, but you’re the one who came here. It’s clear you’ve got to get something off your chest.”

She side-eyed him before the bottle found her lips again, the amber liquid inside swishing around, the only sound in the room for a moment.

“Don’t do that,” she ordered, voice a little harsh from the drink.

“Do what?”

“Psycho-analyze me. People have been trying to do that for years. It’s daddy issues, it’s mommy issues. There’s too much pressure on her, there’s not enough. I’ll tell you what it is, it’s people who don’t know how to leave me alone!”

Apparently, that was the push she needed. At her emission, she stood and paced in front of him. Hints of her citrusy perfume floated in her wake, a contrast to the heavy mood surrounding her.

“I’ve had to deal with people controlling me my whole life. And my family’s a fucking mess, which doesn’t help. I finally figure out how to get away from it all and Rhaegar drags me back. Then he springs this marriage on me without my prior knowledge, so when I rightfully freak out, he threatens to ruin my life. The longer I delayed it, the more pressure he put on me and what was I supposed to do with him breathing down my neck about it? So, of course, I broke down and said yes but I guess that wasn’t enough for him because-”

Jon hated the way his stomach sunk at her revelation. He needed an explanation, deserved one. He intercepted her path and placed his hands on her shoulders, her slight flinch strangling his heart.

“You said you agreed to the marriage because you wanted to help my people.”

“I did,” she blinked, “And I do but it wasn’t the only factor at play. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, to dismiss her apology and the conflicted feeling settling in his chest. Their marriage was inevitable, so why did he feel terrible about this new information. Because she made it seem like it was her decision, like there wasn’t someone in the shadows forcing her hand. And Jon couldn’t help but feel that he was at fault. 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize. Just, sit down before you wear a hole in the floor.”

She looked at him for a moment, the Dany he was accustomed to searching his face before she retreated again. Jon was a little relieved that her heated, predatory stare from earlier was gone.

“What’s it like? Being close with your siblings?”

“I won’t lie, it has its moments,” he admitted, sitting down next to her, “Sansa and Arya get into petty fights all the time, but they’re at that age. Robb and I would get into it, though there’s not much now that he can do to piss me off. Now Bran, he’s an old soul, stays out of the way for the most part, handles everything like a diplomat. But at the end of the day, we’d die for one another. ”

She pulled her knees up to her chin, whiskey bottle resting on her shins, “That sounds nice. I don’t think I have to tell you that Rhaegar and I’s relationship is complicated. Strained is a better word. Viserys and I were closer in age, for whatever good it did us. My mother had a difficult pregnancy with Rhaegar and was told she wouldn’t have another. Eight years later, Viserys came and in another two, there was me.”

“You don’t talk about Viserys a lot.”

“There isn’t much to say. We were close, then we weren’t. He died young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” she took another swig. “You wouldn’t have liked Viserys, he was very punchable.”

Jon couldn’t keep down the chuckle that left him and it brought a small smile to Dany. They fell into their usual silence, something Jon was finding more comfort in but the knowledge of what he heard nagged on him. He should tell her he’d heard her conversation. It didn’t feel right.

Dany continued to look at him in her contemplative way. She set the bottle on the floor, knees leaving their place below her chin as she leaned closer to him. There was still distance between them, though significantly less than ever before. Her hand crept up to trace the length of his scar, from brow to the spot just below his eye. 

“You never told me the real reason why you came here,” Jon reminded her, voice toeing the line of a whisper.

“Well, it wasn’t to talk about my poor familial relations.” 

“It wasn’t?”

She chuckled, soft and breathy, “Are you always this clueless?”

“Not particularly.”

His hand tightened around the armrest, the threads scratching his palm. Her soft fingertips brushed over his cheek, bringing her closer, until she was in the no man’s land she’d only dared to cross once before.

Jon expected a moment of hesitation, a moment for the Gods to flip another coin and decide his fate for him. He closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer. _Please_. For what, the jury was still out. For them to go further, for the willpower to do so? For Dany to stop dead in her tracks and realize she was making a mistake. But the alcohol-fueled boldness Dany possessed was stronger than any deity and she proceeded as she had the night before.

Her lips, which had been pillowy and careful, were harsh and persistent. The once delicate, hesitant sweep of her fingers turned assured. Pressurized points drawing Jon’s nerves to the surface and igniting them. He wanted to be rational about the situation but the feel of her made it difficult. Tongue, lips, and cool, soft skin. With a swing of her leg, the formal reasoning in his brain shut down, leaving him like a car with no driver, speeding toward a cliff. And below the precarious overhang, a valley of white water, sharp rocks, and venomous snakes.

His hand sunk into the mess of her hair, the other ghosting over the ethereal fabric hiding the skin of her thigh, her hip, the small of her back. She arched under the pressure of his hand, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging, egging him on and draining the rest of his common sense.

But his mind still wandered, landing on the very recent memory of overhearing something he clearly wasn’t meant to. Who was she talking to? What did they talk about? Those radio commenters who theorized Dany was a spy, were they right? His need for answers was greater than it had been before, outweighing the other, much more present want.

It was the sensation of her hands slipping under the hem of his shitty old tee that pulled him back. They couldn’t. Not with Dany in the state she was in and not with all the questions piling up. His hands found her shoulders, gently creating space between them.

“Dany we can’t,” he stated.

The confused crease in her brow smoothed, “Why not? We’ve already kissed… three times now. I think that means we can kick it up a notch.”

“No. You’re not thinking straight,”

“So?”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Technically, I won’t remember it, I think that’s a perk.”

“It’s not right.”

“Nothing about this has been right,” she countered, “Why are you so cagey? Is it me?”

She didn’t give him time to respond before rambling on in the loose-lipped way of someone with a lot on their mind and too much alcohol in their system. Until realization dawned on her, transforming her face into a look of slow surprise.

“Gods, it _is_ me. You probably think I’m crazy, coming here to, well-” she backed off, her dress trailing across Jon’s lap as she did- “I’ve made a big enough fool of myself so I’ll…”

She stood and was about to leave when Jon caught her wrist. The curiosity swimming in his mind needed answers and it was going to get them.

“Dany, it’s not you. And I don’t think you’re crazy, I swear. I- I overheard you talking with someone. I have to know who.”

It seemed, for the first time that night, Dany couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a ghost?” she pondered.

Jon scoffed, running a hand through his hair, “A ghost?”

“Daario Naharis, a person of former … interest.”

A mixture of dread and surprise and irritation twisted under his ribs. The combination was an unexpected reaction to her reveal, leaving him bristling. 

“And you invited him?” There was more bite than he meant.

“Of course not. The guest lists were triple checked and his name was never on them, it was never even considered. But he had one. Said he wanted to _apologize_ , well that was a fucking lie. I’m tired of lies.”

“Me too,” Jon agreed.

“And yet here we are, living in one.” Dany sat back down, exhaustion starting to show through her posture.

Her answer should’ve been enough to appease him but he wanted more details.

“What else did you talk about?”

“I didn’t reveal any state secrets if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“You know I don’t believe the conspiracies. But why would you agree to speak alone with him?”

“Maybe you are clueless. That’s the man who appeared beside me in a scandalous photograph, people knew we were involved. What would it look like if I was spotted speaking with him in an abandoned corridor on the eve of my wedding, with my new husband nowhere to be seen? I’m already suspected of being a foreign operative, no matter how ridiculous and untrue it is. People love to talk and we don’t need them adding fuel to an already large, uncontrollable fire.”

“Thank you, for being honest. I know our … relationship is delicate but I do trust you.”

“And I trust you,” she assured him.

Her hand found his, entwining their fingers but keeping the space between them.

“That being said, there is one more thing you should know. Sansa didn’t hear what really happened between Rhaegar and me, only that we raised our voices at each other. He tried to delay me from signing the marriage contract so he could ask me to be his inside man. He admitted to trying to plant agents in Winterfell but having no success, his Hand thought I would be a good fit.”

The shallow irritation from the earlier part of their conversation returned, rapidly turning to a flare of deep ire. Dany’s hand tightened to let him know she felt the same way.

“When I refused, as he should’ve expected, things went from bad to worse. Rheagar’s raised his voice at me before but he’s never …” she took a deep breath, it trembled slightly as did her jaw. “He’s never gotten physical with me. And I’ve never had a reason to fear my brother but in that moment I was so scared.”

She looked at him, tears welled in her eyes but he knew she wouldn’t let them fall. Dragons didn’t cry.

He gathered her into his arms, a novel sense of protectiveness adding itself to the cocktail of emotions the night possessed as he held her tightly. Gods help him, he wanted to protect her. This woman who, only a month ago, he could feel nothing but deep contempt for. Who, in the short time they knew each other, did nothing but confuse and impress him and make him wonder what was going on inside her head. Shifting from discontent to tolerance to acceptance of her as part of his life.

Earlier that night, he couldn’t imagine her being considered part of the metaphorical pack his family composed. But the way Sansa made it a priority to tell him that something happened between Dany and her brother, and the way she simply won over the other members, proved she was considered a Stark by more than just the law. And she bonded so well, it was like she was always meant to be.

“Can I stay here?” she murmured into his shoulder.

“Of course,” he answered, breathing in the sweet, chemical scent of her hair, “For as long as you want.”

That proved to be all night. Jon loaned her a shirt so she could change out of her dress and Dany requested they talk about anything other than family, marriage, and politics. Which led to several long-winded conversations about literature and travel, some of it involving Dany’s mindless mumblings. While they were both exhausted, she was the first to nod off, tucked under a throw blanket in the opposite corner of the settee.

Jon took in her resting face. It seemed impossible that she was the same whirlwind of a woman who swaggered into his room practically plastered. And he realized they were both going to end up with sore necks if they slept crammed into the corners of the age-old piece of furniture. 

He decided to let Dany take his bed, gently picking her up so as not to wake her. Though he doubted anything could disturb her at that point. Jon considered sharing the bed with her, it was large enough, but their little blunder undid some of the progress made. So Jon returned to the loveseat, stretching out and letting the weight of everything take hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Princess Diana from "The Crown" Season 4. Which, is also fueling a lot of creativity as far as this fic goes.
> 
> As always, leave a comment if feel compelled! And I'll see you in the next one.


	21. admit that it hurts you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany faces the fall out of her decision and has an interesting meeting

* * *

Dany couldn’t be sure what time it was but her body wanted to be up, or her mind did at least as it pulled her from the dark obscurity of sleep. Her usual wake-up call was the maid knocking and opening her curtains but from the looks of her surroundings, it was too early for that. She rolled onto her back to gaze at the wooden beams across the ceiling, a habit she’d developed recently. It oriented her, reminded Dany of where she was and where she wasn’t and in a way informed her mindset for the day. But as she looked up, a strange feeling took root in her chest. Something was off and it wasn’t her ignorance to the hour.

She pulled her eyes down to the duvet swaddled around her. It was a different color than she remembered, dusty blue and a different texture. When did that happen? Dany slowly pushed herself up and noticed the sizing and arrangement, a few key pieces of furniture were missing from the room. If she was on her usual side of the bed, then the window was on the wrong side of the room which meant… Oh gods, it wasn’t hers. 

Despite the harsh bite in her head, she flew from the foreign bed as though it were on fire, taking only a second to blink at it before heading to the doorway between the two rooms. A string of the most un-princess like curses rattled through her brain, both in regret and pain. She wanted to do something stupid, and she accomplished it. Better to slip out and explain herself after she had time to think of something.

Two hushed voices in the sitting room stopped Dany from charging straight through. Instead, she peeked around the doorway in caution. Jon stood there, conversing with someone she didn’t recognize. She couldn’t make out anything they were saying, the gauzy spectre of her reception dress laid over a chair distracted her. Dany’s hand felt over her chest and, realizing she wore a borrowed tee, her heart picked up its pace.

She knew they hadn’t crossed the line drawn so firmly in the sand even though she’d taken a step across it. It was the implication of said borrowed shirt paired with her shoes peeking out from under the settee and the abandoned hairpins and dress. And what all of those things meant to the stranger in the room.

“I will let her know, thank you.”

“Of course, sir.”

The door clicked shut and Dany retreated to the safety behind the door frame, hoping she hadn’t been spotted.

“You can come out now.”

She exhaled, there would be no slipping out unnoticed. Dany tried her best to appear nonchalant but the cliche, tacky events of last night were rattling through her brain. Those tactics might have worked on the people in university bars or a desperate lord's son but there was no trick in the book for someone considered her equal, if not her better. 

“There isn’t a castle wide man-hunt for me yet?”

“No, they figured out where you might be pretty quickly.” 

There was a little humor in his dark eyes, obscured by the lack of brilliant sunlight. It was gloomy outside again, the perfect weather to accompany the first day of their union.

Whoever Jon was talking with would go back to their co-workers and recount their findings, filling in the gaps with whatever they dared to. Their spun tales would reach the right ears and claim anyone who didn’t believe in fairytales had better start because they were witnessing one. A love at first sight, happily ever after fluffy wonderland right before their eyes, live and in living color. How were they to know that it was really one battle after another, an uphill climb fraught with tumbles and falls like the one last night. 

Dany leaned against her own doorway, in Jon’s shirt. The scene conjuring sensations familiar and distant as she eyed him warily. She remembered why she came there, unannounced and trying to drink herself into an uninhibited state. A failed seduction of herself and her new spouse. An attempt to wrench herself free of the past and embrace the promising path she was set upon. The end result being a devastating step backward.

At least, she thought it was but Jon appeared rather calm and unaffected by the events of last night. But something unspoken between them hung in the room like a dense fog weighing down their shoulders and spirits. Both of them like animals trapped in a cage, agitated and unsure. There wasn’t the spectacular happiness shared between true newlyweds but a fragile peace and perhaps understanding. The two of them in their shared silence, having decided there wasn’t a need to fill every single moment with chatter.

But as Jon crossed the room to sit, Dany wanted to fill the expanding quiet.

“I’m surprised they didn’t assume I’d run off,” she chortled. 

“Why would they think that?”

“Stress, nerves, making an absolute fool of myself.”

He only arched a brow at her and Dany returned her gaze to the dress in the chair.

“Throwing myself at you when we clearly aren’t there, which, I’m sorry for by the way.”

She glanced at Jon, meaning to gauge his reaction but instead getting distracted by the casual look of him. All messy curls and slept in clothes and a pinched brow that her fingers ached to ease. Then she noticed the blanket tangled up on the cushion next to him and her heart twisted itself up. She was still unsure of the mood, it couldn’t be terrible. 

He shook his head in dismissal, the following words escaped with more bite than he probably intended, “We really aren’t going to get anywhere if you keep apologizing for every little thing.”

“Right, sorry,” she said automatically, cringing as soon as the word left her mouth, “Starting now.”

Dany finally noticed the bouquet occupying the center of the coffee table. Modest and delicate with blooms in soft pink, lavender, and white of varying lengths, small puffs of bold yellow peeking through. All of it framed the little card nestled in the center. Curious, she forgot her previous hesitations and approached the bundle of flowers in their plain glass vase.

“Who are these from?”

“Their majesties,” he answered simply.

“Yours or mine?” she plucked the card from the holder, a singular congratulations inked in elegant script was all that was written on the creamy cardstock. She ran a finger along the edge, with the same tenderness she’d traced the scars on her husband’s face the night before. 

“Ours.”

Dany jerked her head slightly, not expecting what she considered a bold answer, but resolved to a little smile and considered the card once more, “Cute.”

“My father’s secretary dropped them off and asked me to relay a message.”

Dany hummed, absentmindedly fiddling with the floral arrangement, “And what was that?”

“He’s requested a meeting with you.”

She paused, a jolt of mild shock possessing her nerves. She knew something bad would come of her spilling her guts and now she was about to enter a very complicated lion’s den, or wolf’s den for that matter.

“Just me? Not … us?”

“Just you.”

“I’d better get going then,” she decided, turning her back to Jon and removing the shirt he’d let her borrow.

Slipping back into her abandoned garment and managing the short zipper with ease, she spotted her shoes hiding under the settee. 

“Do you want me to walk you back?”

“No, I’m alright. I’m actually starting to understand the layout better, I mean, I found my way without issue,” Dany joked as she secured the straps, the shoes were much more comfortable now that her feet had recovered from the pinching and cold. 

When she stood, Jon was there, offering her a jacket, “Aye, that you did.”

“Thank you, for everything.” Dany slid her arms through sleeves too long for her arms. “I know I’m not easy to deal with.”

When she turned to face him, there was a quizzical look on his face.

“What?” she asked, her own brows furrowing.

“I’m trying to figure out why you do the things you do.”

“Good luck,” she shrugged before breezing past him toward the door.

She stopped before crossing the threshold, a thought pinging into her head, and paused in the doorway. For all the damage caused by her blaze of boldness, she might as well offer an olive branch. 

“Will I see you later?”

Better to leave it open-ended, the decision was his to make.

Jon’s brow creased, then smoothed, “Tonight, maybe, if you’re sober.”

“Of course. How else could I tell you everything your father said in our meeting,”

And with that she started on the longest and strangest walk of shame ever, but she was grinning like a damned fool. So everything wasn’t totally ruined, there was something salvageable from the wreckage of last night. A month ago she would’ve left things as they were, shattered and scattered with her reveling in the middle of the mess, dancing in the flames. But she needed to pick up the pieces and put them back together however she could. There was no other option, she knew. No doors to run through, no windows to break. Dany huffed at herself, she had to stop thinking of her marriage as a trap with no way out when it wasn’t. It was a shining opportunity like Braavos had been, a chance to escape and thrive but Winterfell offered her more. It was a fertile field she could put roots down into and grow and create. And she’d nearly scorched it.

 _How does Jon do it?_ Dany wondered as she turned a corner and hugged the plain, unassuming jacket closer to her body. Spilling her emotional baggage wasn’t how she planned on starting a marriage, specifically not this one. And certainly not when they were about to embark on a tour of the south before the southern wedding, just the two of them parading around the countryside for all to see. She was so focused on herself last night and causing trouble like she always did in that mindset. If she pulled the same antics on any other prospect they would’ve dropped her like a fad that ran its course. But Jon hadn’t washed his hands of her yet.

He had every right to, Dany wasn’t going to deny it. With the way she acted from their very first meeting until the night she changed her mind, she would understand if Jon avoided her save for public functions but he didn’t. She hurt him with her actions, even if he wouldn’t show it. He was selfless, he was compromising. Dany needed to be more like him. 

She reached her resolution and turned another corner, finally in the wing of the castle containing her guest room. A trio of maids were there, whispering among themselves as staff were so apt to do. Dany wanted to duck her head and rush past like any woman returning from a man’s room in the same clothes as last night, but she reminded herself of who she was. A princess, a married woman in her new home, a dragon turned wolf. The maids bowed and addressed her in hushed tones, Dany dipped her head in recognition. 

A sense of relief filled her chest when she opened the door to her room, like returning home after a long trip. Everything was familiar, comforting. She’d grown attached to the temporary quarters and would be sad to leave them so soon but Dany was excited to show Jon the south. Outside of King’s Landing it had the most beautiful sights: Sunsets over the Golden Coast in the Westerlands, the acres of masterfully cultivated gardens in the Reach, the real watergardens in Dorne, the mountains of the Eyrie. It was the thought of meeting her brother again that dampened her mood.

She shook it off at the same time as her shoes, dress fluttering like delicate petals on a windblown flower. Now she was faced with a new dilemma, what did one wear to meet with their new father-in-law whom they’ve never talked to outside of formal occasions.

Black was out of the question, something reserved only for mourning and she had nothing to observe in that respect. Red was the color she usually chose when in need of courage, a shade to bolster her strength. But it was too bold, too Targaryen, and Dany’s fraught relationship with the color pink eliminated it from her wardrobe entirely. There was always the option of grey and white, Stark colors. A subtle show of allegiance if this meeting entailed what she thought it did. Or perhaps she should choose something unrelated to house colors, there were plenty of blues and beiges among the clothes she brought with her, lavender and sage and a handful of jewel tones too. 

In the end she selected a sweater in a grey shade that leaned toward beige and dark trousers, neutralizing herself visually and mentally. She brushed through the mess of curls and hairspray comprising her hair, smoothing it back into a low bun. She removed her very obvious nighttime makeup, but didn’t reapply much besides hiding the dark circles under her eyes and some mascara. She managed to get her hands on some food as well, knowing better than to go into something important on an empty stomach. 

Eventually, someone came to retrieve her, taking her on another journey through the halls of Winterfell. The wing in which the king’s study was housed felt older, heavier. The persistent overcast sky outside didn’t help, it only deepened the impressive shadows in the hall. As she swept into the room, a steward announced, “The Princess Daenerys, Your Majesty.”

Dany curtseyed, dipping her head, “Your Majesty.”

“Daenerys, thank you for coming. Have a seat, please.”

The inside of the study was brighter, the arched windows letting in whatever natural light there was to offer, highlighting the bookcases and portraits. Stark ancestors looked down upon them in different styles, but it was the smaller frames lining his desk that caught her eye. The few that faced her weren’t the usual official portraits at state gatherings, they were candid moments caught by chance. The twins, younger than double digits, with cake smeared on their faces. Sansa in a fluffy formal dress stretched on a sofa, tiara askew as she napped. A slightly blurry snap of who she could only assume were a teenage Robb and Jon, chasing after each other in the courtyard.

“I see you’ve noticed the unconventional display of pictures.” 

“They have a lot of personality.”

“I’m glad you like them.” Ned picked up a folding frame, the kind that displayed two pictures, “This one-” he offered it to Dany “-is my favorite.”

A picture of Jon, in the white and grey of Stark regalia, kneeling before his father and surrounded by the lords of the North. An investiture ceremony, the naming of an heir. The image in the next slot was a complete departure from the formality of the last. Young Jon with a wide smile on his face, holding onto the silver coronet as it tilted at a playful angle. The absence of his characteristic scar was a little jarring, enhancing the youthfulness and instantly dating the photo to a bygone time. 

“I can see why.”

“Daenerys,” the king began but she had to stop him.

“Please, call me Dany.”

“Then you must call me Ned.”

“Of course,” she acknowledged, passing the treasured photo back to him, a little pleased and comforted at the sense of familiarity. 

“I wanted to let you know that the first round of aid from your country has already reached our borders and reiterate how thankful we are for it.”

Dany only nodded so he could continue but his gratitude felt hollow. She wasn’t the one coordinating the dealings between North and South, nor was she dispensing the resources herself. She was only the cyvasse piece that allowed for it to happen.

“And to apologize for the security breach last night. Our team is already doing a thorough investigation of protocol to determine how Mr. Naharis got in and was able to corner you.”

Not the topic Dany thought they would start with but she was glad they were discussing it. 

“He had an invitation. I saw it,” Dany affirmed, “But he was never even considered for the list. And there were only four people with access to them. Myself, the wedding planner, Elia, and Her Majesty, Catelyn. I know that she and your son have a complicated relationship but I couldn’t imagine her doing something that underhanded.”

“Her Majesty is unflinching in her views but she’s competent enough to know how something like that could do more harm than good. The planner on the other hand is worth looking into. For now, we’ve decided to bring on more security and there are a few men retiring at the end of the month, so those positions will need filling as well.”

“Could I ask who is in charge of the hiring process?”

Whichever lord Ned chose would need to be alerted to her brother’s ambitions, or at least, to be more thorough in their interviews and background checks.

“His Grace, Roose Bolton has been chosen to work in collaboration with Ser Rodrik.”

Dany made a face, unable to hide the gut reaction to hearing that name. She expected Ned would judge her for the way she distrusted Bolton but he only chuckled.

“I understand, there is not much to like about the Duke of The Weeping Water but out of respect and allyship he maintains a certain degree of power and influence at court.”

“He doesn’t have a very trustworthy demeanor, forgive me for saying it, and from the way Jon explained it to me, the Starks and Boltons have been uneasy allies since the middle ages.”

“That is true and they were quite outspoken in their opinions of strengthening our relationship with the South. But everyone is skeptical of change and we must often make concessions to keep everyone happy. House Bolton hasn’t done anything to upset the balance and Roose’s input has been helpful on many occasions.”

Dany hummed in agreement, it was classic political understanding and a strong philosophy to hold, though she didn’t think it should apply to political rivals. But perhaps Bolton was the best choice as he was wary of outsiders and could spot one of Rhaegar’s southern plants if needed. Something that could work in her favor for once.

“Is that all you called me here for?” 

The statement came out with more desperation than she meant. Dany didn’t intend to sound like she had somewhere else to be, or that the meeting was unimportant to her. She suspected there was an ulterior motive to the harmless beginning and braced herself for the bombshell question to ring through the room.

“Well, I was hoping to check in with you. Make sure you’re settling in alright.”

“Oh,” Dany answered, a little stunned, “I think you’re the first person to ask me that. Thank you.”

“Everyone assures me you’re doing fine but I wanted to see for myself.”

She was reminded of their first interaction, in the meeting to negotiate the terms of the marriage contract, when she showed a nasty side of her that wasn’t made for first impressions. And she stubbornly demanded something she had no right to.

“I’m adjusting. I know I’m going to miss it while we’re south, that’s a good sign. Then I can finally stop living out of my suitcase when we return.”

“Cat and I have had our fair share of intense touring, it’s exhausting but fulfilling. Getting to see the people and the sights, the funny thing about them is their ability to strengthen the bond between a couple. We were already crazy for each other but after our first tour, we were inseparable. Of course, we were married for a while before it happened but it certainly changed our dynamic.”

Dany felt ridiculous saying it but she had to be sure, “And you think it will have the same effect for Jon and me.”

“In a general sense, not necessarily as romantic partners,” Ned assured her but the tone in his voice implied that it wouldn’t hurt.

“Got it,” Dany replied with a small smile. 

Relieved she didn’t have to explain the actions of her brother, she felt much more comfortable in the study. No sense of intimidation or otherness existed; she didn’t need to establish herself as an unyielding force.

“You should know that Jon used to complain about you whenever the topic came up. Now, he has a much more positive outlook.”

“And I feel much the same way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Yule and a late- Hanukkah! I hope you all got to see the Jupiter-Saturn conjunction, it was cloudy where I live so I didn't get to. This chapter took a while to get out because a few new projects fell out of my head and into my lap and commanded my attention. One of them might turn up as a Christmas surprise!
> 
> But thanks for sticking it out with me!
> 
> As always, leave a comment if you enjoyed!


	22. see you in a new light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany spend quality time in the West

* * *

With an hour to themselves before the grand event that evening, it was spent on last-minute preparations. As well as adjusting to the ostentatious display of wealth that composed the sprawling palace of Casterly Rock. 

The dry heat and blazing sun were welcome friends after the North cursed them with overcast skies. The change in climate hitting Jon when he stepped out of the plane upon landing late that morning. It got warm up North but those temperatures were nothing compared to the Westerlands. The secretaries warned them of the temperatures, the high eighties and mid-nineties. The kind of insufferable numbers Jon knew he would dislike. However, the heat wavering off the dark asphalt was deceptive. The dry air was light and inviting, enjoyable if not for the industrial smell clinging to it with determination.

He happened to glance up at the airport windows, blinded by the brilliant sun bouncing off. Through the glare he could see hundreds of people crowded to the glass, struggling to get a look at the lovely young couple descending to the tarmac where the senior members of the Lannister family awaited them.

It was easy to understand why the lion was their sigil. Besides the pride and vanity they failed to conceal, the twins embodied the animal. All golden curls and glowing green eyes scanning and assigning value to every object and person. And whereas Jaime glossed over Jon with apparent disinterest, Cersei’s eyes raked over him like an appraiser’s over a set of antique gems, hunting for details and flaws. Determining false from authentic. Not for the first time in his life did Jon wish he were invisible.

It was an event filled with icy exchanges and insinuations. From Tywin’s calculated draw to Cersei’s off-hand comment about Dany being territorial, Jon was relieved when they reached the final member of the house. Tyrion received endless praise during Dany’s info dump on the flight, with her stating that he was the only Lannister she could stand. He exuded a different energy entirely from his self-obsessed siblings and his inquisitive mismatched eyes held humor and warmth, he held himself with confidence instead of stubborn pride.

He smirked when he saw Dany, stating, “When they told me you ran off and married a Northman, I thought, there goes the last bit of personality in this stuffy world of ours.”

She laughed in reply, “Good thing you have plenty for both of us.”

They were ushered into the stately town cars that would carry them to Casterly Rock, another not so subtle statement. The noise and excitement disappeared with the closing of the door, the faces and expressions hidden. They were carried out of Lannisport via a highway that expanded to fourteen lanes in places. The opposite side was crowded to a standstill but the royal escort cut through their side with ease. Jon glimpsed the shimmering waves of the Sunset Sea crashing against the shores alternating between soft sand and uneven rocks. 

Their destination loomed above the modest two-lane road they exited onto. Casterly Rock was comparable to the Wall in size, crowned by the jagged ruins of an old keep. No doubt the Lannisters carved out their home in it, making it a true lion’s den. Or lair rather.

Jon settled himself onto a gaudy settee to finish the revisions on the remarks he was expected to give at the gala in their honor. It was his third read through, not counting the four on the flight over when he was handed the sheets. His speech also marked the first time a Northern representative addressed a gathered party of Southern nobles, it needed to be impressive. He glanced up at Dany through the doorway into her room, where she held a piece of jewelry against the fabric of a dress.

There were three options, he noted. Bold blue, soft lilac, and something a few shades lighter than black. She sighed and let the purple fabric flutter from her hand, turning away and tossing the silvery bauble. It clinked as it landed against the other pieces she gathered there. Jon put his attention back into the sentence he’d been editing.

“Could you believe all those people were there to watch us get out of a plane?”

“They don’t show up in numbers like that for you?”

“No, actually. Up until recently, the public couldn’t make up their minds about me.”

“Now they’re stepping on each other to get a glimpse.”

“Partially thanks to you, of course.”

“What happened between you and Lady Lannister? She looked like she wanted to murder you.”

Dany sighed, “She said some unfounded shit about me being _territorial_. So I told her we can’t all have a twin to cling to when we’re lonely. Cersei went through a nasty divorce a few years back, which I’m not faulting her for. Robert Baratheon is a serial adulterer and any sane woman would’ve left him a long time before she did. Now the only male company she keeps is her brother and practically smothers her children. I’m not proud of it but that’s how you deal with the likes of Cersei Lannister.”

She disappeared into the bedroom, allowing a moment of silence.

“How’s the speech going? Perfected yet?” her voice called out, though he couldn’t see her through the doorway.

“Could be better,” he huffed, striking out another word and scribbling in a more suitable replacement.

“Make sure you don’t kiss Tywin’s ass too much, his ego’s already over-inflated.”

“Why don’t you have to do one of these?”

She poked her head around the doorframe, half of her light hair now arranged in a halo of curlers. Jon chuckled at the ridiculous look of her, to which she rolled her eyes. 

“Because I’m not the most important person there. And they’ve heard me speak before, probably want a breath of fresh air.”

“Too bad this is the most generic speech they’ll ever hear.” Jon slapped the slim stack of papers down on the coffee table.

Dany swept forward and sifted through the sheets, taking in his notes and adjustments. Humming and nodding in approval like some eccentric teacher grading school work.

“No, this is really good. Very personable. Did you write this yourself?”

“Well, they give me the bare bones and I flesh them out.”

“They’ll love it.” she offered the papers back but pulled them away before Jon could grab them. “But seriously, no gushing about what great hosts the Lannisters are, I don’t think I could stand it.”

He took them from her, “I’ll make a note. You should wear the blue.”

“Pardon?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“The gown. You look good in blue.”

‘Good’ wasn’t the right word. It failed to capture the extent of the notion. It seemed brutish and careless. He should’ve said ‘pretty’ or at the very least, ‘nice’. 

An amused smile graced her face, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he offered with a stupid casualness, kicking himself as he took in the last paragraph of his absurd speech.

Jon remembered the charity gala in the Red Palace and feeling suffocated by the number of people and metallic decor. The gold-encrusted, overheated ballroom in Casterly Rock was that feeling tenfold, except it was easier to ignore the overwhelming sensation this time around. There was enough socialization to keep both Jon and Dany distracted. They split the room, working their way around but still managed to catch each other’s eyes from time to time and share brief expressions about whoever they were talking to.

He gladly took his eyes off the lady he was talking with, a Westerling if he remembered correctly, to find Dany across the room. Her head tilted slightly with a bemused smile, bordered by a gilded mirror. Catelyn’s tiara glittered atop her perfectly styled hair, tossing twinkles with effortless precision as she turned her head. Jon had seen it worn to a few functions before but it never looked so radiant as it did on Dany.

Catching his eye, she smiled and quickly said something to her conversation partner. Then Dany was making her way across the empty space that was meant for dancing. The deep blue fabric wrapped around her frame and draped over one shoulder recalling her outfit the night she accepted the marriage arrangement, crowned in simple flowers with firelight and distant sadness dancing in her eyes. 

Now, she shone brighter than the oversized baubles adorning the other ladies and the countless incandescent bulbs providing over-saturated light now that the sun was gone. 

“How are you fairing?” she asked.

“Pretty well, all things considered.”

“Your speech was brilliant, everyone is talking about it. You know, it’s a shame Tywin paid for these musicians and no one’s dancing.”

“Shall we show them how it’s done?”

“Of course.”

The music for that evening wasn’t the Northern standard of reels but something smoother, jazzier; less string quartet and more subdued brass. A kind of tune meant for swaying, which is what they did, pressed close without a care in the world.

They were getting very good at pretending, so good that it was impossible to draw a line where the acting stopped and started. It was easier, now that relations between them were friendlier. They were able to smile and chatter and be in the same room together, the bare minimum requirements for acquaintanceship. But there was still so much they didn’t know about each other, superficial details and hidden truths. 

Dany spun away from him, the silk panels of her dress flaring and sweeping along the floor before she returned to him.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best dancing partner I’ve ever had?”

Jon considered the question before answering, “Once, but you could stand to mention it more.”

The giggle that left her was surprisingly girlish, though he couldn’t be sure if it was genuine or because she didn’t want to laugh too loud. Dany didn’t seem like the type to hold back just because she was in front of a few stuffy states people but he never knew what was going through her head from one moment to the next. 

“Where’d you learn to dance anyway?”

“Private school, aside from the traditional ones, we had to learn standard ballroom steps. And I wanted to be better than Robb.”

“I just had private lessons with a strict woman with an accent I couldn’t understand. You can imagine how much I hated it.”

“So you quit?”

“Naturally but I had other reasons than a shitty instructor.”

She glanced over her shoulder as they passed where Jon had been standing moments earlier, clearly searching for something … or someone. The rogue thought crossed his mind when he saw his former conversation partner. Lady Westerling was pretty but she was so demure their conversation hadn’t strayed past the climate habits and scenery of the North. And she looked too much like their Lannister hosts for Jon to feel at ease around her. But he remembered what Cersei said about Dany being territorial and he found that every snide remark had some truth behind it. 

“Was there a reason you wanted to drag me out here? Besides having pity for the musicians.”

She blinked at him, violet eyes wide under her full lashes, “No … why do you ask?”

“I was having a lovely conversation with Lady Westerling when you spotted us and came running over-”

She caught his sarcasm with a sly smile, “Are you insinuating I’m jealous of the Lady? You’ll be disappointed to know that I’m not that insecure. And you’re too smart to even entertain that idea.”

Another couple had entered the floor and breezed past them causing the brief pause in their conversation so they could smile graciously. Once the other pair passed, Dany turned back to him.

“Cersei mentioned you were territorial. I wanted to see if there was any truth to it.”

“It’s true that I don’t like to share but I would never stoop so low as to consider Jeyne Westerling a threat. Unlike _someone_ we know.” Dany nodded her head and Jon turned them so he could see where she motioned to.

Cersei, wearing her weight in emeralds and gold and green silk, threw a scalding glare at her brother who had struck up a conversation with the young lady in question.

“Green is certainly her color,” Jon chuckled.

Other couples were following their lead and stepping onto the floor. Once it became too difficult to navigate, they left. Dany made a comment about their early morning press appointments, to which Jon agreed and they made their quiet exit. 

Once in the significantly cooler hall, Dany removed her heels and dangled them by their straps. Her head rested against Jon’s shoulder, he could feel the stiff points of her tiara through his suit jacket. Their hands were entwined and they walked in silence, comfortable and content.

Before, it had been unbearable. Every passing second needling him into annoyance at her refusal to play nice and throw down her sword for the sake of diplomacy. He was stubborn too, acting like he had a moral high ground when they were just two people in an unfortunate situation. The realization brought an evolution, both of them testing the waters to decide if they could make the best of what they’d been handed. A strange agreement grew into the very first signs of a friendship.

The sitting room was dark when they returned to it. Neither of them bothered to turn on a light, they were going to their own rooms anyway. They didn’t untangle their hands, standing for a moment in the stillness of the room until Dany turned to him.

“I was thinking, this is technically a honeymoon, we have our evenings free. Would you like to take a drive up the coast? The sunsets are spectacular over the ocean.”

He smiled at her, “I would love that.”

“Great. I’ll see you in the morning then,” she replied.

Her response indicated that their conversation was over, yet they remained unmoved in the darkroom, halfway to their separate quarters. The urge to stay and talk to each other hung heavy in the air. Every nerve in Jon’s body pressed him to seize upon the opportunity but there was nothing left to say. Instead, they very stupidly exchanged good nights and disappeared behind their doors.

The next day brought an interview on a radio show, with two hosts who were over-eager to have them. The questions were polite and didn’t require answers deeper than the surface. Which made it much easier to perform their roles of “royal couple playing tourists”. Throughout the whole interview, Jon answered questions about how much he was enjoying the south and married life. He and Dany joked about the weather differences with Dany recounting the story about their snowy summer wedding.

It wasn’t long before they were carted off to their next destination. One of the West’s famous Lannister mines, owned by a proxy business of course and situated on the outskirts of Lannisport. The site functioned only for tourism, having run dry decades ago.

A guide towed them through miles of tunnels. At one point the path narrowed so much, the group was forced to talk single file. That far down, the tunnels were cooler offering a reprieve from the outer heat. Though it was as insufferable as he originally thought, Jon took comfort in the lower temperatures. Until it opened up into a natural cavern, the walls covered in simple drawings of animals and men, handprints dotting the scenes.

“This is, of course, a recreation of similar caves in the area, believed to be frequented by the First Men before the Andal invasion. The original caves are off-limits to visitors to preserve their natural state,” the guide informed them.

As part of the attraction, they were instructed to extinguish their lanterns. Jon knew what to expect, having experienced the same kind of total darkness from the walkways through the wall, where his body awoke deeply buried reactions. There was still the initial spook when his eyes couldn’t focus but a new one surprised him when a chilled hand found his own and gripped it tightly. It broke their strict no public displays of affection rule. 

The rules felt like some cruel joke. At Winterfell, their hands always found each other when they needed to. Jon and Dany turned into their own personal signal of support, of trust and understanding. And just when they reached that point, it was taken from them by outdated ideas about affection and professionalism. The lamps’ glow returned and they released their hands, fingers lingering a beat longer than they should have.

They returned to Casterly rock when the sun was starting on its scheduled descent. Dany practically dragged Jon to the palace’s garage, excited about their escape from their strict schedule. Her anticipation was contagious and Jon was ready to leave the Lannister den as soon as possible. The mechanical smell of the city still lingered, following them as it had their whole stay. 

“Oh, shit, I have to run back to the guest rooms,” she announced when they arrived, “I would say head in without me but I’m not sure which car they loaned us.”

“Don’t worry about it, Your Highness, I’ll make sure your prince gets where he’s going.”

Dany sighed at the appearance of the youngest Lannister, “Tyrion, thank the gods. How many times must I ask you not to refer to me by that dreadful title?”

“It’s a sign of respect. And I believe it’s ‘Your _Royal_ Highness’ now.”

“Why bother with another word and more syllables when Dany works just fine?”

“Point made,” he conceded. 

Dany smiled at Tyrion, then Jon, “I’ll be right back.”

When she bounded away Tyrion noted, “I offered up my car for your little excursion. Come on.”

Tyrion led him down the row of neatly parked vehicles, each more impressive than the last. All of them were custom models, recent too. However, the one designated for him and Dany was all the way at the end. A shining cherry-red to stand out amongst the other dark vehicles, with the distinct long line body of vintage cars. And, unsurprisingly, no top. The tan leather looked like it had never seen the sun.

“A gift from my father so I can’t say he never did anything for me.” Then he turned his mismatched eyes on Jon, “You’re the first crowned prince I’ve actually taken a liking to.”

Jon disguised his surprise at the abrupt change in topic with a chuff. His interactions with the self-proclaimed black sheep of the Lannister family were limited. “And why’s that?”

“Well, from what I hear, you’re not constantly talking about yourself. Though you could stand to do that a bit more. But I do have a soft spot for people like me.”

Jon furrowed his brows. Unless Tyrion was blind as well, there was no evidence to support his claim. At his pause and confused face, Tyrion offered, “There’s an old saying, ‘all dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes’. And word travels fast around court.”

Jon bristled. It wasn’t a huge secret, a simple internet search would turn up hundreds of opinion pieces and state documents about his legitimization and the scandal it caused. And no doubt courtiers got curious and did their digging. 

“Words hurt, that much we can agree on. But I’ve found it’s much easier to accept what you are, rather than distance yourself so far it becomes an insult.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

Tyrion’s gaze shifted to look past Jon, he followed suit. Dany was back, her hair tucked under a fluttery scarf, a few strands escaping.

“You’ve got a precious gift in Daenerys.”

“Aye, I’m grateful for her.” The line was rehearsed but much easier to say.

“Good. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t. Is sharing wisdom about life all you do?”

“It’s one of my many talents.”

“You and Dany are close then?”

“She dislikes my father to say the least. But we share views on politics and religion and countless other subjects. And most importantly, she never forgets how human we are.”

“Ready to go?” Dany chirped.

“You’ll need these.” Tyrion handed him a set of keys.

“I’m driving?”

“I figured you’d enjoy it more than whatever the hell I do.”

Jon chuckled and spun the key ring around his finger.

“Thanks again Tyrion,” she called from the passenger seat.

“Anything for my favorite royals.”

Dany was right about the coast. It was beautiful and warm, delightfully open and a complete departure from their rich entrapment. Just having a steering wheel in his hands, with no destination or plan, was freeing; the impending, packed schedule of the rest of their trip carried away by the wind. Even with the security vehicle tailing them. 

They found a little parking space on the side of the road, overlooking the rocky beach below. The sun hovered temptingly close to the wavering waters and washing everything in its extreme saturation. They stepped out of the car and Dany pointed to the way they had come.

“Look familiar?”

Casterly Rock towered over the horizon, bathed in the harsh sun. The flat face of the peak fell away into plateaued levels. The resemblance was uncanny, a regal lion overlooking an aquatic domain.

“Thousands of years ago, before my ancestors even dreamed of Westeros, Lann the Clever tricked his way into the Rock and never gave it up.”

“So he took the lion for his sigil and gave birth to the least favorite house of a princess in the far off future.”

“I doubt Lann was thinking that far into the future but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a prophecy or something.”

“There’s always one of those,” Jon commented.

The sun inched further down in the ombre sky, its burning surface kissing the reflective waters. A twin disk burning equally as bright. Crashing waves sounded below and somewhere above a seagull called.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jon hummed in agreement, casting a side glance at his wife. Her side profile received the same treatment as their surroundings, skin and hair aflame as they leaned against the hood of Tyrion’s car. When they first met, Dany was frigid, devoid of the things that comprised a friendly person. But those traits were simply hidden beneath the surface in a stone chest and it took extraordinary circumstances to draw them out.

She moved and the rectangular shape of her phone appeared, aimed at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want a picture.”

“Of me? What brought this on?”

“When I had my meeting with your father, I noticed all the photos on his desk. They were just silly, candid things. We don’t have pictures like that in my family but I want there to be and I thought now would be a good time to start.” Dany paused with a thoughtful smile. “He told me his favorite was one of you. He’s incredibly proud.”

“All fathers are like that with their children,” Jon shrugged.

“They should be, shouldn’t they,” Dany agreed with a certain wistfulness in her voice.

“I take it you didn’t get the same?”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t try.”

“Good thing there’s plenty of that with the Starks,” he smiled.

His fingers found hers, his hand taking up hers. Dany scooted closer to rest her head against his shoulder and Jon tipped his to hers. They stayed like that as the sun slipped under the restless horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, it's finally here! Updates will be sporadic from here on out because I will be busy doing *checks notes* hot girl shit.
> 
> I really wanted to stick with it because there would have been a Valentine's Day update, which I was very excited about, but I'm already behind.
> 
> As always, leave a comment if you feel compelled and I'll see you in the next one!


	23. way too bright for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany's second-guessing gets laid to rest

* * *

Dany had been on tours of the Kingdoms on different occasions. The first being when she was just an infant, before her mother’s untimely passing, when the country fawned over baby Daenerys and her blushing mother. Taking a child on such an arduous journey was unheard of and a bit taboo in the noble circle but Rhaella and Aerys managed it.

There was another shortly after her debut at sixteen. The incident between her and Viserys was only a few months prior but Dany smiled and waved and waltzed like nothing happened. At an age when she should have burst with excitement at the chance to dance with notable young men, she wanted nothing to do with them. Every box step was its own torture and every minute of forced conversation drove her to the point of exhaustion. 

The press at such events took note of it, questioning the ethics of the practice and criticizing the organizers for putting a young girl through so much. But those were the new age papers who sought to humanize Dany. More established columnists picked out every imperfection and condemned her inability to keep up with the demanding schedule.

She was able to avoid the customary tour after she turned eighteen because her birthday fell during the traditional mourning period for her father. When the time came to reschedule the event, Dany had already jetted off to Braavos for university.

Of all the travels through her home country, Dany liked the Reach the most. A lush landscape of green dotted with orchards and fields. Fresh air and uninterrupted horizons. The palace of Highgarden never bored her with its expansive gardens and luxurious sights. It was a different kind of wealth from the showy Lannisters, subtle and meticulously blended with the natural elements around it.

Dany was especially looking forward to this leg of the trip, not only because the Tyrells were wonderful hosts, but because it provided a lapse in the usual busy schedule. No galas, state dinners, or ribbon cuttings. Only a few charity visits and one interview, which they completed when they landed in Bitterbridge. And then it was on the Roseroad to Highgarden.

Tucked away in the country, the Tyrell summer home was the pinnacle of a vacation retreat. All old stone and overgrown elegance. Standing in the foyer to greet them was the whole Tyrell clan. Matriarch Olenna, known in all circles as the Queen of Thorns for her prickling jabs, cutting wit, and vindictive attitude to those she saw as threats to her family. Dressed in her usually muted vintage colors, her hair still styled as though she walked off the set of a golden age screen. 

Mace and his lovely wife Alerie. And the most interesting members of the family, their children. Willas, Garlan, Loras, and Margaery. 

She and Marg were closer, despite the age gap. After that unfortunate waltz with Willas and the following trip to Highgarden, the girls formed a sort of mentorship. Dany wouldn’t call it sisterhood but it was something adjacent to it. 

That day brought them a foray into the very edge of Tyrell lands, a walk that could be more aptly categorized as a hike. They reached their destination by midday even with the assistance of a fleet of golf carts. However, the little vehicles couldn’t reach the very place they were meant to go. Uncharted territory. A stretch of trees and high grass untouched by the Tyrell penchant for artful landscaping and planned gardens. 

The group walked along trails barely beaten and ducked under branches as someone high up on the groundskeeping chain of command explained plants to them. A hundred years ago, during Olenna’s prime, this sort of outing would’ve been enjoyable. The charm that must have surrounded it was lost in the humid air around them. Dany tried to feign interest in whatever lecture they received but was distracted by the man walking next to her.

Jon was doing his best to pretend this activity was interesting. Occasionally they would catch each other’s eyes, betraying their true feelings on the matter, and have to hide their laughter. Eventually, they came upon a point in the trail where the land beside it rose into a knoll of high grass.

Tired of the unending green light of the forest, Dany departed from the group and stepped through the thin line of trees. She made no effort toward the top, only gazed at where the crest met the crystalline blue sky. The wisps of clean, white clouds trekked lazily along, occasionally blocking out the harsh sun. A breeze stirred the sultry air and she took a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut in her moment of still relief.

The rustling of the overgrowth attracted her attention, though she was unsurprised to find it was Jon.

“Needed a minute,” Dany said simply, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I don’t think we’ll be missed.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Gorgeous. The view from the top is probably better.”

Dany hummed in agreement.

“Race you to the top?” Jon challenged, a playful grin on his face.

“In this heat?”

“Afraid you’ll lose?”

Dany rolled her eyes, “Fine.”

Without much more debate, she took off with Jon’s claims of cheating lost on her ears. The incline wasn’t terrible but it still stole her breath all the same. High grass grazing her legs and threatening to trip her. Jon was right about the view from the top, though, it was even better. A patchwork of varying shades of green as the fields stretched to the horizon, occasionally broken up by strips of trees or the odd pasture and farmhouse. 

The peaceful moment of awe was interrupted by Jon grabbing Dany from behind and spinning her around, raucous laugh music to her ears. She playfully swatted at him when he set her down but she lost her footing and fell into the high grass. He came down with her and they laughed as though it was the funniest joke in existence.

“I should’ve known you’d do something like that,” Jon managed through breathy chuckles.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

Dany rolled onto her side, resting her head against her hand. Jon reached up to brush back a strand of hair worked loose from her messy braid. As he tucked it behind her ear, the familiar thumping in the chest and tightening of the throat that accompanied her so often lately came back.

A side effect of her current state, a sickening twist of her stomach and pinching in her brain, made her freeze. Eyes searching Jon’s desperately for any sign that she was not alone in her newfound mess.

A security officer cleared his throat and the two royals sat straight up, looking guilty though they were not.

“Your Royal Highnesses, the Tyrell’s have inquired about your intention to continue the hike,” he reported.

Dany blinked, “Of course. We were simply enjoying one of the more diverse views the Reach has to offer.”

“We’ll be down shortly.” Jon put in.

The officer nodded to them and headed back to their group, who were no doubt stopped at some unfortunate bend in the trail and wishing they hadn’t invited newlyweds on their excursion. The childish playfulness in their relationship was fresh and a nice reprieve from the solemness woven in their time together. It also resulted in camera rolls full of silly photos they managed to snag of each other.

They were in somewhat of a friendly competition to see who could collect the most candid photos of their trip around the country. A contest that was tied as of their landing in the Reach. In order to keep track of the standings, their text conversation was filled with pictures and comedic captions.

Dany learned that all of her cherishable moments happened when she and Jon were away from public view. The only precedent she had for a relationship like the one she found herself in was Rhaegar and Elia, a comparison she hesitated to make. The bond between those two blossomed under the public eye and, as far as Dany knew, didn’t require near the amount of building. The moment she and Jon were under pressure to perform, every action and statement was forced and watched and analyzed.

They heaved themselves up from the ground, making sure no bits of grass stuck and they didn’t look too guilty, and rejoined the awaiting group. They pretended not to hear Olenna’s snide remarks.

Late the next morning, the boys offered to take their guests on a horseback ride through the vineyards. 

“Actually, I have some last-minute wedding things to sort out.” Dany deflected, “But Jon would love to.”

She’d let it slip to Garlan the other night that Jon was quite the equestrian. 

The three eager boys hauled Jon off. Ecstatic that they finally had someone to antagonize.

Dany was not free from her own abduction. The women took her to a sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a jade green color scheme, the same little room where they were known to exchange gossip. It was Olenna’s favorite hobby. This time, there were none of her fellow old ladies to sip tea and spill secrets with, just the Tyrell women and Dany.

“How are you enjoying married life, my dear,” Olenna asked.

“Oh, it’s … fun.”

“Always is in the first years.” Alerie reminisced.

Was it? Sure, traveling around the country and seeing sights she hadn’t in a while, was enjoyable but would it be the same with or without her new life partner? So far, the most memorable moments revolved around Jon. The cave and gala and sunset would’ve been enjoyable but forgettable in the end. Now, those specific scenes stuck out in her mind, vivid and sparkling, and she couldn’t seem to stop them from occupying center stage in her mind.

“Daenerys?”

Dany shook her head, breaking away from her reverie. 

“Are you going to answer that?”

She glanced to where Alerie pointed with a well-manicured finger at a buzzing phone.

“Oh,” Dany turned it over.

Missandei’s gorgeous contact photo, a snap from one of their last brunches together, smiled back. She’d almost forgotten her SOS text.

It occurred after Dany awoke to a different text from Jon. A photo of her, head lolled to the side as she slept on their flight captioned, “prettiest sleeper around”. As the smile spread across her face, her heart skipped a beat. And the mild panic set in.

Dany swiped across the screen to answer Missy’s call as she swept through the doors to the exquisite patio overlooking the gorgeous vineyards she turned down a tour of.

“It’s so good to see your face,” Dany gushed.

“Yours too,” Missy chuckled.

“How’s the new job?”

“Galazza’s amazing per usual. And thanks to you I’m already gaining a ton of positive attention.”

“I always knew you were going to be amazing.”

“How’s the tour? I assume that’s what your text was about.”

Dany groaned, “Yes. By principal, I should be hating every moment of this stupid trip but I’m having the time of my Gods damn life. Not to mention being utterly infatuated with the person I’m with it’s-”

“Wait, rewind! Did you just say ‘ _ utterly infatuated _ ’?”

Dany shook her head, “It’s not what you think, we’ve spent every damn moment together, that’s why. Luckily, there’s plenty of space on this leg. Margaery’s brothers have him occupied for now.”

She gazed over the tops of the trellises, eyes drawn to the sight of a group of riders returning. Jon and the Tyrells back from their escapade. She couldn’t take her gaze away from a certain someone, body relaxed into the saddle and the laid-back sway of his horse. The almost lazy way he held the reins in his hand. It was, dare she say it-

“Um, Earth to Dany?”

“Yeah?” she acknowledged, still only half-listening.

Jon caught her staring, shielding his eyes to look up at her. He waved and she returned the gesture.

“Hello?”

Missy finally broke through to Dany, “Oh shit, sorry.”

“Mm-hm, I know that behavior.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. I’m acting like a love-sick idiot.”

“You know, I hate to say it but I-”

“Don’t,” Dany warned.

“Told-”

“Missy, don’t say it.”

“I told you so.”

“I hate you.”

Missy cackled, obviously pleased with herself.

“I just- it’s too early. I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“Dany, look at your hands.”

With furrowed brows, she did as her friend commanded. Her wedding band, nestled snugly against the kite-shaped stone of her engagement ring winked at her.

“You’re already locked in. It’s not like he can run.”

“That’s exactly the problem. What if … I pursue this and the timing’s all wrong. Divorce isn’t an option.”

“Has Jon given you any reason to doubt that it could?”

“No. Quite the opposite actually.”

“Then what do you have to lose?”

Everything and nothing.

A rise in noise from the adjacent room reminded Dany of her hosts in the other room and ended her call to be with them, saddened to cut her conversation with her friend short. It wasn’t long before Dany grew tired of their talk of marriage and children, especially the latter part. So she retreated to her rooms, which also boasted a nice balcony to take in the fresh, summer-scented air. A binder laid open on the table in front of her with song choices from the repertoire of Baelor’s Blessed Singers, the official ensemble of the Great Sept. 

Most of them were in the Common Tongue but a few were in the dead language of High Valyrian, the mother tongue of her Targaryen ancestors. Although the Faith of the Seven existed before the Conquest, when the Targaryen’s adopted it, they commissioned hymns to be written in their native language. Some sort of symbolism, Dany figured.

Footsteps entering the balcony drew her attention away from the Valyrian text before her.

“How’s wedding planning this time around?” Jon’s voice asked teasingly.

“About as well as the last. I have to pick out seven songs and seven prayers for the ceremony.”

“That many?”

“It used to be seventy-seven.”

“I’ll count us lucky then.”

“How were the vineyards?”

“A lovely display of grapes and greenery.”

“I’m very sorry to have missed it. I had no idea how good of an equestrian you really are.”

Jon chuckled, “You’ve seen me ride before.”

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t paying attention then.”

_ At least not in that way _ .

He sat down in the open chair next to her. Gazing over the next line of text with its accent marks and translations. 

“What does i-os- ruh-li-” he paused as he leaned closer to the page to examine the word that caught his eye.

Dany giggled at his stumbling mispronunciation, “ _ Iosrūlirion _ . It’s Valyrian for autumn. The whole line translates to ‘as the autumn mist hides the hills’.”

“And the whole poem?”

“As the rain hides the stars, as the autumn mist hides the hills, as the clouds hide the blue of the sky, so the dark happenings of my lot hide your shining face from me. Yet, if I may hold your hand in the darkness, it is enough, since I know that though I may stumble in my going you do not fall.”

The last word fell from her and hung in the air with birdsong. With hesitation, she shifted her eyes off the papers and to the waiting gaze of Jon’s. 

“A pretty piece.”

“Thank you. It’s one of my favorites,” she admitted, tearing her eyes away and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She blinked at the heat in her cheeks, pressing her hands to her face at the strange sensation. She hadn’t felt it in while. The giggling, the blushing, all things she’d experienced before on several occasions. All of them preludes to romance.

“How do you know Valyrian?”

“Targaryen family requirement. Every one of us knows how to speak it, read it, write it. A completely useless skill, unless we’re in Essos, then we just sound like pretentious assholes.”

Jon chuckled, “It does sound ridiculous.”

Dany shoved his shoulder, “And who assigned you higher authority on poetic language?”

“It’s a self-appointed position.”

“Then you won’t mind showing me your qualifications.”

“My qualifications?”

Dany hummed as he leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat.

“I carry it in my heart, anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling. For you are my fate, my sweet, for beautiful you are my world, my true. Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide. I carry it in my heart.”

Jon spoke more like an actor performing a monologue than someone pulling words from their memory. Intent in every line.

“I carry your heart with me. I am never without it. I fear no fate, I want no world and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that.” Dany breathed, “Who was she?”

There was only one reason someone memorized a poem like that and the slight smile on his face said it all.

“Her name was Ygritte, her dad was a diplomat at court so we went to the same school. It was the first time I ever had a crush like that and I was desperate to impress her. So I learned the piece, recited it to her and by the end of it she just laughed at me. Told me I knew nothing about women if I thought that cheesy performance would get me anywhere.”

“She didn’t,” Dany gasped, thoroughly surprised.

“She did. If you met Ygritte you’d understand.”

“Then what happened?”

“She’d never admit it but it definitely worked. We were thicker than thieves after that. And eventually, we became more.”

“You never mentioned her before.”

“There wasn’t anything to mention. It was … short-lived. We knew it wasn’t meant to last. A classic case of teenagers fooling around. I went to the wall and she stayed in Winter Town. Don’t tell me you never did something stupid to impress someone you’re interested in.”

“Never,” Dany affirmed, “It’s usually the other way around.” 

Dany didn’t like the way their eyes lingered on each other. More specifically the way it affected her heartbeat.

Looking for a way out, she turned over her phone and gasped.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. I promised Marg I would help her … choose an outfit for dinner tonight. And I said I would meet with her ten minutes ago so I’m late.”

A lie. Shoddy and thrown together but she needed to get out, away from Jon and the unwanted thoughts surrounding him.

Reprieve from such things was unachievable. The Reach screamed romance. Every garden saturated in the sickly sweet hallmarks of the idea. There were statues of lovers placed around every corner, rose bushes lining the pathways. In her blind wandering, Dany passed fountains and gazebos and tile mosaics laid in the ground.

Around every bend she found herself contemplating the words of her friend and the newfound curiosity surrounding the seriousness of her girlish feelings. In truth, Dany wasn’t sure she could trust herself on this issue. They had spent so much time together, it was only natural she felt strongly about Jon. 

But what if she was confusing mere friendly feelings for something more. The last time she showed all the symptoms for a textbook case of a crush, it ended in a messy engagement and family intervention. Not to mention most of their romantic interactions occurred in the form of performance. The line between reality and fairytale was more of a gradient.  _ Dany, you’re being ridiculous _ , she reprimanded. There were the fuzzy feelings the night before their first wedding. And when she got drunk and failed at seducing her husband of a few hours, that had to come from somewhere.

She wandered until she couldn’t anymore. The sun reminded her that there was an official dinner she needed to attend. Dany sat through the proceedings in her printed wrap dress, distracted and feigning interest when she could muster the concentration to do so. When the last course was whisked away and the party dissolved into the social part of the evening, Dany was hounded by Margaery’s cousins, all of them eager to look at the ring and ask the same questions she’d been answering for weeks.

Marg had taken a page from Dany’s book and disappeared, leaving Dany to bite the bullet. As she offered up another half-hearted answer and tuned out the sighs of idealism, Dany searched for Jon. He met her gaze, not too far away, and she gave him a pleading look.

Like a true knight in shining armor, he swept in, nudging gently into their group and graciously humoring the girls before spouting some lame excuse to save Dany. 

They left the social scene for the nearby garden, unfortunately decorated with naked figures and plenty of alcoves.

“Thank you,” Dany said lamely, not wanting to provoke a full-blown conversation between them.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What makes you ask?”

“You’ve been cagey all day. Pawning me off on the Tyrell boys, running off on wedding planning. By the way, if you’re going to lie about where you are, make sure the other party is in on the plan.”

Dany looked at him with a furrowed brow, “You were looking for me?”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Dany nodded and they continued their walk in silence. The path opened up into a little plaza, a bubbling fountain at the center of it. The moving water sparkled under the dim glow of the outdoor string lights overhead.

“Do you think we’ve been spending too much time together?” she pondered as they came to the other side of the fountain, “I mean, putting on this performance so no one gets suspicious. It has my brain spinning a hundred miles a minute and I’m not sure when it stops and starts.”

“I know how you feel,” Jon echoed.

“And sometimes I find myself wondering what would happen if we just kissed, not to prove anything to anyone else but us.”

Her statement came out more rushed than she meant it, sounding childish in delivery.

“We’ve found a really great friendship here, and I don’t want to threaten it, but…”

“You still wonder.”

Dany nodded to keep another rambling sentence from leaving her. She was having a hard time being concise. 

“Are we performing now?”

His thumb brushed in a reassuring arc on the back of her hand. She’d almost forgotten they were holding hands, the sensation of being entwined so familiar to her now. Her heart fluttered and beat against its bone cage.

“I- I don’t know.”

Jon glanced at their hands, then back to Dany, dark eyes questioning. There was no one around, she didn’t have to feel that way. And yet, she wanted to fall into his gaze forever, to never move from that spot in the garden with its soft golden light and twinkling waters over the sound of a distant dinner party.

Jon’s free hand ghosted over her bare arm, disturbing the fluttery short sleeve of her dress and resting against her cheek with a tenderness that scared her. The soft burbling of the architectural fountain faded with the feel of his thumb brushing across her cheekbone, there was only them floating in that enchanting space.

“Dany.”

“Jon.”

Their voices were no louder than whispers, hushed with intensity and the understanding that it was for no one else but them. Her lips parted without command as the space between them dwindled to mere atoms. Her heart waited in her throat for the indication to either swell or shatter.

Ultimately it was both. Somewhere past the cautious, reserved nature of their previous embraces but only reaching the edge of a deep sea of nuance. The complexities were obscured by the busy waters, however, the intent and want were clear.

She tore her entwined hand away to thread her fingers into his mess of curls, Jon’s now free arm finding the small of her back and pulling her closer. And there it was, as their lips parted for a moment, only to meet again with greater urgency than before, that certain spark reverberating through her whole body. It screamed in relief and righteousness.

This was right; the right path, the right time, the right person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I honestly thought I wasn't going to be able to get this chapter up because I've been busy. Apparently being back on campus has its upsides. Although, the increased risk of getting COVID isn't nice but I'm in a small program and I don't spend any more time on campus than I have to. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed and I'll see you in the next one... whenever that might be.


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